A Passion for Retribution
by massivelyattacked
Summary: ON INDEFINITE HIATUS: A Khajiit with a penchant for debauchery and a Breton with a taste for violence seem unlikely companions, but together they take Riften's underworld by storm. Warnings for language, sex, violence, etc. Collaboration with johmatmarkun.
1. What's a Dragonborn?

A/N: This is a collaborative work of fanfiction between myself and johmatmarkun here on fanfiction dot net. You should _definitely _check out his very first work of fanfic, _The Kharza Chronicles_. We're kind of in the middle of a reciprocated author crush and decided that this was a project we just had to make happen. It's a _slightly_ different approach to writing than I think either of us have taken before, and has been super fun so far. Take the warning seriously though…if you are in any way uncomfortable with violence, sex and language, we'll not hunt you down if you run away screaming now.

Places, characters and events property of or inspired by Bethesda.

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><p><em><strong>What's a Dragonborn?<strong>_

Riften—the Jewel of the East. A city of rich mercantile heritage, where lavish manors proudly lined its grand boulevards and a bustling marketplace attracted wealthy investors from each and all of Skyrim's nine holds. A city where a man could turn a few septims into a fortune overnight. A city where a man with a dream and a plan could build an empire.

A city of broken dreams and ruined plans. A city of squalor and decay. A center of debauchery and decadence, where thieves lurked around every corner and beggars lined the streets. A place where a man was all too keen to embrace his fellow man in friendship and stab him in the back at the same time if it meant turning a profit.

A naked J'Thaar flung open the door to his meager balcony overlooking the street and greeted the morning with a grin, standing as tall and as proud as his morning erection.

"Ah," he sighed cheerfully, "another glorious day in this pit of despair we call home."

He turned and gazed upon the equally naked Wood Elf girl in his bed. Chuckling, he padded over to her side and delivered a hearty smack to her buttock. The Bosmer yelped and bolted upright on the mattress.

"Rise and shine, my little rosebud," J'Thaar smiled.

"What in Oblivion, cat?" the girl whined, rubbing her hindquarters. "That hurt!"

The Khajiit chuckled. "Well, my dear, there's business that needs tending to," he said, rocking his hips from side to side.

The Bosmer rolled her eyes. "You fucked me six ways from Sondas last night. I'll be sore for days, and a sore cunny means no clients. You owe me, cat."

The Khajiit grumbled and gathered up a few coins from next to a pewter pitcher on the nightstand, unceremoniously tossing them at the girl one by one. The Wood Elf raised an eyebrow and stretched out her hand.

J'Thaar shook his head. "Have it your way," he said, picking up another few coins and dropping them into the girl's palm. "Now get to work. I have yet to try that pretty mouth of yours."

With a sigh, the girl took a drink of water straight from the pitcher and got on her knees. She wrapped her lips around J'Thaar's member and began to suckle in earnest.

"Good girl," J'Thaar groaned. Oh, how he loved these Wood Elf whores. He was positively beaming.

There came a knock at the door. The Bosmer was about to pull away, but J'Thaar palmed the crown of her head and pushed her back to her purpose. "Yes? What is it?"

The door opened to reveal a young Imperial man dressed in red robes. The man took a breath as if to say something, but the words went missing in his throat as his eyes trailed downward to the girl on her knees, bobbing her head back and forth on J'Thaar's turgid flesh.

"Ah, good morrow to you Carlo!" J'Thaar smiled. He tapped the Bosmer on her head. "Dear, be polite. We have company."

The girl issued a muffled grunt in greeting.

The Imperial stared for a moment with a bewildered look on his face before speaking.

"Er … is this a bad time?"

J'Thaar waved his hand. "Not at all, good Carlo, not at all! Now, what brings you to my quarters this morning?"

"Well, er … Jorik says he won't be able to attend the meeting tonight. He said something about urgent business in Shor's Stone."

J'Thaar nodded. "Another miner who has 'forgotten' to pay his taxes, no doubt. So be it. Tell Jorik I will speak to him when he returns."

A sharp twinge in his nether region made J'Thaar hiss in discomfort. He lightly slapped the Bosmer girl on the side of her head.

"By the Twin Moons, woman, I am not paying you for your teeth!"

The Wood Elf gave pause to shoot J'Thaar an angry glare before returning to her work. Apart from the sounds of the people outside and the Bosmer girl's slurping and sucking, the room was silent.

J'Thaar blinked at the Imperial. "Did you need something else, Carlo?"

The man shook his head. "No, I—"

"Splendid! I trust you know the way out?"

The door closed quietly, and the Imperial's footsteps trailed off down the hall. J'Thaar looked down at the girl servicing him.

"You know, when you put forth a little effort, you're not half bad at this."

* * *

><p>It was getting to be a common sight to see the young Breton woman in the green scarf kicking at the dirt near the stables. It was the third time in a fortnight that she could be spotted near the path that led to the structure – and the third time in a fortnight that she'd been forgotten. Her so-called partner in crime had conveniently missed their meeting once more.<p>

"Gods-damned Khajiit," she mumbled to herself. She leaned forward to pick up several pebbles she spied on the ground. As she rolled them around in her hand for a moment, she stared off in the direction of the gate that served as Riften's main entrance. Perhaps she just needed to give the cat a bit more time. He'd eventually come along as planned.

But the longer she waited, the more annoyed she became. She absentmindedly began to toss the pebbles at one of the smaller horses tied up outside of the shelter of the stables. The dark mane on the animal tossed back and forth as it whinnied in aggravation in response to the repeated pelting.

"Hey!" a voice called. "Stop throwing rocks at the horses!"

She looked to its source and saw the Redguard who worked at the stables. She snarled in his direction, causing him to frown.

"Fuck off, Shadr." She took her remaining pebble and whipped it in the man's direction before stomping off towards the city.

"Divines take you…you…you half-bred _bitch_!" he called out after her.

She snapped her head back in his direction, looking over her shoulder sharply. The look upon her face was all business, and Shadr shrank into himself when he saw it. He'd have to be careful over the next few days – at least until the woman forgot about what he said. She was not one to be trifled with. She could tell from his expression that he knew he'd overstepped his boundaries with her. She'd be sure to take it up with him later.

A wicked smile spread across her lips as she faced forward again. She reached her hand up to brush the long dark hair off of her shoulder where it had landed when she spun her head around. Her eyes narrowed once more when she remembered that she was supposed to be very displeased with J'Thaar.

_What could possibly be keeping his attention this time? _Perhaps he was still drunk from the night before. Or, it could have always been a whore. She nodded to herself – she'd put money on a whore every single time where he was concerned.

As she reached the gate to the city, the guards recognized her and opened it for her, allowing her entry. After several steps inside the gate, a man wearing the easily recognizable garb of the Thieves Guild moved out from behind one of the pillars providing support to the city's walls into her path.

"If it isn't Maëlys Branoc," the man said. "When are you going to take me up on my offer for some mead at the Flagon?"

"Vipir," she groaned in response. "Come out of your vermin hole to harass the upper crust of Riften?"

The young Nord shrugged. "Practice makes perfect, eh? Can't let these hands stay idle when there are pockets ripe for the picking."

"Mmm," she responded. She stepped up to him, reaching down between his legs and squeezing. "Shame when things go unused, isn't it?"

He grunted until she released hold of him, pushing him out of her way. "So, is that a yes to the Flagon then?"

Maëlys chortled, shaking her head in disbelief as she walked away. Those Guild members were certainly persistent – likely the only reason they still felt they were relevant in the city despite all their misfortune. Whenever she _did_ visit the Ragged Flagon, all she ever heard was whining and moaning over how bad they all had it; how much more difficult surviving as a thief had become as the days marched forward. _Pathetic!_ If they had any smarts, they'd leave the Guild and decide to work with her and the Khajiit. Their luck had never been better.

_Speaking of the cat…_

She looked up from where she stood on the main street in Riften. She was directly below his balcony.

"J'Thaar! Get your furry arse down here!"

Her head swiveled, watching the occupants of the city as they passed by, eyeing her as they went. A young mother passed with her child in tow, giving Maëlys a dirty look over the yelling.

"Keep staring at me like that and I'll cut your eyes out," she growled at the woman, who immediately pulled her child by the wrist, dragging him quickly away from the Breton. She rubbed her hands in front of her, looking back up to the balcony. There was still no sign of him.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed. "Damn Khajiit!"

She stomped towards the door to the inn where he resided and forced it open. As she continued on with heavy footfalls, the innkeeper looked at her curiously, trying to get her attention.

"Can I…help you?" he called out.

"Oh no," she replied. "I know _exactly_ where I'm going…" Annoyance tinged her words. She wasn't so much angry at J'Thaar for not showing up as she was irritated that she'd had to change her plans; and quite possibly infuriated that she'd let herself believe that this time would be different and he'd have actually met a commitment he made. She was already behind schedule for accepting delivery of smuggled goods from Windhelm that she _promised_ herself she would get to that morning. But the cat just happened to have a very odd way about throwing a snarl in her well-laid out plans.

Though, could she blame him really? One would have thought she'd have given up on him after seven long years of the same.

When she had ascended the stairs, she stormed to the second door on the right – _his_ door. She breathed in deeply, gritting her teeth and attempting to prepare for whatever sight awaited her. It was almost _never_ pleasant with him.

She threw the door open. "J'Thaar, where have you—?"

Her voice cut out mid-sentence as her eyes fell upon him. She half expected to see him passed out on the floor, in a pile of vomit and mead, but not…_this_.

"What the _fuck_ is this?"

J'Thaar didn't look up; he just sat there cross-legged on the floor with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Papers were strewn across the floorboards—letters, contracts, and accounts of business transactions.

"The numbers don't add up."

Maëlys raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck are you on about, J'Thaar? Where have you been? We were supposed to meet at the stables an hour ago. The shipment, remember? Do you even remember the shipment of firewine from Windhelm, or were you high when we made the arrangement?"

J'Thaar's steely blue eyes flickered up to meet the Breton's gaze. There was anger written all over his face.

"The numbers, Maëlys," he said. "The fucking numbers. They don't add up." He picked up one of the sheets on the floor, shaking it for emphasis. "Somehow, somewhere, somebody's been giving us a raw deal. Someone's been cheating us for _months_, and we were too stupid to see it."

The Khajiit scanned the floor for a moment and grabbed another leaf of paper. He rose to his feet and approached Maëlys. "Here, see for yourself. Remember that Colovian brandy we brought in two months back? Turns out we came up short. Same thing with the shipment of fire salts and the five barrels of moon sugar."

Maëlys shut the door behind her and snatched the paper from J'Thaar's grasp. "You sure the barrels didn't arrive a little light?" She gestured toward the Khajiit with a jerk of her chin. "You were the one handling them, after all."

J'Thaar glared at her. "Fuck you, Maëlys," he growled. "I don't pinch from our deliveries. You know that."

"Well, there was that one time …"

"All right, that one fucking time. And as I recall, you were all too happy to join in, so don't point your witchy fucking finger at me and blame me for our shortcomings. Khajiit knows better than to stand in the way of profit."

J'Thaar turned his back to the Breton and braced his hands on the desk, scowling as his eyes bored through the windowpane. His tail twitched violently in his anger. He was cursing himself on the inside for not catching on sooner. Whoever had been scamming them knew what he was doing. Initially, everything had looked all right; nothing had given J'Thaar any reason to suspect he was being conned. Only when he looked at the papers altogether had things started to make sense—why they barely had enough to cover the weapons shipment, or the void salts consignment, or even these fucking cases of firewine from Windhelm. Sure, they still came out ahead on their smaller investments, and there were plenty of other smugglers who would be happy to shrug and look the other way if they brought in the kind of coin J'Thaar and Maëlys did … but J'Thaar was not just any smuggler. J'Thaar was proud. He wouldn't stand idly by while the money he risked his neck on a daily basis to make was being swiped right from under his nose.

Maëlys took a step forward. "Hey."

No response.

Maëlys tapped J'Thaar's shoulder hard. _"Hey."_

J'Thaar took a deep breath and sighed before turning to face his partner.

Maëlys looked the Khajiit in the eye. "How do we fix this?

J'Thaar knew they needed to speak with Wanders-The-Shores, but he certainly wasn't happy about it. That rat bastard Argonian knew the dirt on everybody who was anybody, and if ever there was somebody to pump for information about a dirty deal, the lizard was the man to see.

At least they wouldn't have to visit the docks; J'Thaar wasn't exactly popular there. Instead, he and Maëlys made their way to the market square. The hour was quickly approaching midday, and if J'Thaar knew Wanders-The-Shores, the scaly tit would be sitting down to lunch shortly.

It didn't take long to find him—even if the Argonian's scaly white hide didn't separate him from the Nords and Wood Elves perusing the shops and eateries, his atrocious taste in attire made him stick out like a sore thumb anywhere he went. He sat alone at a table outside one of the restaurants, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

"Look at him," J'Thaar sneered. "The slimy dolt even sticks his pinky out when he lifts his cup."

Maëlys spoke over her shoulder as she and J'Thaar wove their way through the crowd. "You'd better behave yourself this time. If the guards haul you in again, I'm leaving you in your cell to rot."

J'Thaar grumbled as they closed in on their mark.

The Argonian looked up from his book. His puce and yellow tunic looked even worse up close.

"Well, well," Wanders-The-Shores said through a broad grin. "Hello, Maëlys. Your pretty face is certainly a welcome addition to an already fine day." The Argonian changed focus to J'Thaar. "Hello, cat," he sneered.

"Hello again, Shores," J'Thaar said, pulling out a chair and sitting promptly absent invitation. "Mind if we join you?"

The Argonian motioned toward Maëlys with his ugly snout. "Her? No. You? Definitely."

Maëlys sighed. A feeling in her gut told her that this encounter would not end well, and that it would probably be the cat's fault. Again. The fuzzy arsehole hadn't even offered her the seat he now occupied.

"We could use some information, if you have the time," J'Thaar said. "And I know for a fact you don't have anything better to do."

"Who says I have any information for you?" the lizard spat.

Maëlys fished a leather purse from her pocket and dropped it on the table. The coins inside clinked together as the little bag made contact with the wood.

"Who else but our good friend Tiber Septim?" Maëlys replied.

The Argonian's mouth twisted at the corners. "Mmmm, music to my ears."

"Do Argonians even have ears?" J'Thaar quipped. Maëlys glowered at him.

"Very funny, sand-kitten," the lizard retorted.

J'Thaar's expression turned from displeased to incensed in the blink of an eye. "What the fuck did you just say?" he growled, pushing himself backwards and rising slowly from his seat.

Maëlys clapped her hand to the Khajiit's shoulder and pushed him back down into his chair without taking her eyes off Wanders-The-Shores. The Argonian daintily lifted his cup and slurped at its contents.

"Just ignore him," Maëlys said.

J'Thaar started to express a thought. "But he just—"

"I wasn't talking to you, you idiot," Maëlys snarled, cutting her partner off mid-sentence. She refocused on the Argonian and tried her best to sound pleasant.

"Look, we need information on a buyer. You know those orders of sugar and spice that came into the docks a couple months back?" the Breton asked.

Wanders-The-Shores stared blankly at her for a moment. "You mean the fire salts and … Ohhh, yes."

"Yes," Maëlys continued. "The _sugar _and _spice_. We need to know who made the order."

The Argonian set his book down on the table and took another slurp of his tea. J'Thaar wanted badly to punch the lizard in the throat.

"Hmmm, I'm having a bit of trouble recalling the details. Perhaps if—"

Maëlys leaned forward, bracing her palms against the table. She lowered her voice, keeping her outward appearance composed.

"I'm trying to be nice here, Shores. Don't fuck around, or I'll haul you into the alleyway by your tail and turn your insides into your outsides. Do you understand me?"

Maëlys could have sworn she heard the lizard gulp. She smiled inwardly in satisfaction at seeing the Argonian squirm.

"When you put it that way, I think I remember seeing somebody sign off on the delivery."

"Good boy," the Breton said, as if speaking to a puppy that had just performed a trick. "Does this somebody have a name?"

The lizard nodded. "You'll want to speak with Alfskr Seven-Spears. If today is Tirdas, he'll likely be at an inn called the Bee and Barb for dinner and drinks. I can take you there, if you like."

The Breton straightened her back. "No, I don't believe that will be necessary. Thank you for your time."

Maëlys turned to leave. J'Thaar stood up quickly, bumping his thighs against the edge of the table. Wanders-The-Shores' teacup was knocked from its saucer and into his lap, unloading its hot contents all over the front of his trousers. The Argonian yelped; the Khajiit grinned.

"Oh my, how terribly clumsy of me," J'Thaar sighed with mock sympathy. "My apologies. Always a pleasure, Shores."

J'Thaar had to jog a few paces to catch up to Maëlys. "That went better than expected," he beamed.

Maëlys shook her head. _Gods-damned Khajiit._

* * *

><p>Ah, the Bee and Barb. The cleanest of the dirty rat hole-infested establishments in Riften. If the Ragged Flagon wasn't such a draw for its damp and stingy charm, Maëlys and J'Thaar would no doubt frequent this fine place. Though it was often difficult for them to do so; what, with J'Thaar's typical comments towards the, as he so eloquently put it, 'slimy lizard bastards' that owned the place.<p>

Maëlys had to roll her eyes anytime he'd start to ramble on about Keerava or the lizard that drooled all over the bloody floor about her, Talen-Jei. She recalled one such instance where J'Thaar complained about the two all the way from the Bee and Barb – where he'd just been given the boot – to Shor's Stone. At the very least, it _felt_ that was the length of time he was on about them.

As the pair entered the tavern, they noticed a few of the regulars. That uppity mage who fancied himself for hire was there – the one that J'Thaar was insistent Maëlys was hoping to bed one day. It was always the mages with her; he figured it was something to do with some sort of kink-filled bedroom game they played – setting the other on fire, or freezing integral body parts, or something to do with lightning. He didn't care much for such things; as long as his elven whores could deliver on the basics, he was left at least partially satisfied. The mead and moon sugar could take care of the rest.

A couple of the more recognizable Thieves Guild members were weaving their way through the outsiders, looking for easy marks and brimming pockets. The dark haired woman…the one named after the gemstone. And the Nord that towered over everyone in the tavern on a fairly regular basis.

It was when Maëlys spotted their potential mark that she nudged J'Thaar and motioned in the Nord's direction. He grabbed her elbow roughly.

"_Must_ you always do that?"

"I _was_ attempting to be quiet about it, but since you'd like announce to the whole place who we're looking for, I think that's Seven-Spears right there." At the sound of his name, the husky blond Nord at the bar with one of his front teeth missing looked around to find who called his name.

"What a _typically _Nord appearance," J'Thaar scoffed derisively. He looked at his partner expectantly. "Shall we?"

She nodded at him and they made their way over to the man. He looked startled as they slid on to the stools on either side of him, both paying him far too much attention.

"Keerava!" she called out. "Mead over here, eh?"

The Argonian slowly made her way over to them, bringing with her two large mugs. She had filled them with Black-Briar mead and slid them in front of the pair, waiting in anticipation for her payment.

"Ah, my good friend here will be covering our tabs tonight," J'Thaar exclaimed boisterously. He clasped the man on the shoulder for good measure. "Isn't that right, Alfskr?"

The man's head whipped towards the Khajiit next to him. "How do you know my name? I don't even know—"

"Of course you do, friend," the Breton chimed in. She reached up towards his earlobe, squeezing it tightly between her thumb and forefinger; fingernails digging into the flesh. There was no further protest. His hands immediately dug into a coin purse, extracting the required gold for the mead. "I _knew_ you'd remember us."

"Ooow," he exclaimed. "That hurt girl!"

J'Thaar clicked his tongue behind his teeth. "Oh, now you've gone and done it."

Alfskr turned back to him again, confused. "Did what?" He suddenly felt two small fingers being driven up his nostrils, yanking his head back in the other direction. The Breton stood in front of him, pulling up on his nose.

"_Nobody_ calls me girl."

"Oh…ow! Okay! Let go of me!" the Nord demanded, glancing back at the Khajiit. He merely shrugged. When she relinquished hold on his nose, he rubbed at it lightly. "What in Oblivion do you two want?"

"Well for starters," Maëlys began, crossing her arms in front of her, "you can stop whining."

"Get away from me, you maggots," he snarled. "I've had a bad day already, and my sword arm is sore from putting down scum like you."

She pouted at him. "Oh…that hurts. Cuts me right," – she paused, pulling the green scarf away from her neck and revealing the jagged scar that reached across her throat – "here."

Alfskr huffed out a reserved breath as he felt J'Thaar grab his arm and begin to pull him away from the bar. "Tell you what," he said. "Why don't we find a roomier corner to chat, no? Maybe with some fresh air." The Nord wasn't certain of it, but he may also have felt a dagger being pressed into the leathery skin of his back. He complied immediately, shuffling along wherever the Khajiit led him.

Maëlys leaned over the bar and pointed at Keerava. "Watch these, lizard. We'll be right back." She took another gulp of the mead before slamming the mug down and following J'Thaar, who was already dragging the Nord outside of the tavern. Not a soul paid any mind to the two with the sniveling man between them.

Lines of worry crossed the Nord's face as the nimble Khajiit pulled him around the corner and slammed his back against the wall. "See, here's the problem, Alfskr. There's a rumor going around the city that you might have signed off on a very important delivery of…baking ingredients."

He scrunched up his face, confused. "Baking ingredients? What are you—?"

The Breton slunk in front of J'Thaar, running her fingertip – or rather finger_nail _– down the line of the man's jaw. "Oh, _you_ know. Sugar…spice…_everything_ nice…" J'Thaar groaned and shook his head, which prompted her to shoot a glare in his direction.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man protested, backing into the wall as far away from the two as he could get.

"Really?" J'Thaar prompted, cocking his head to the side. "Because I think you do." The man looked between the two and saw the Breton nodding her head in agreement.

Her eyes widened as she pulled a small dagger from her belt. "Someone _else_ thinks you do too," she said, her singsong lilt carrying into the alley. Alfskr's nerves had taken control of his body and he was unable to move for fear of the two absolutely crazy individuals that seemed to be all around him at once, despite merely standing in front of him. His back to the wall of the tavern didn't help in the least.

"Look, just tell us where the extra goods went," J'Thaar said, "and I promise to give you a head start when—"

"_If_," she interrupted.

"—we let you go."

The appearance of the dagger at his neck must have done the trick, because despite his clearly superior size in comparison to the two in front of him, Alfskr's lip began to tremble. He sniffed loudly in an attempt to hold back the weeping he was wont to display.

"Come now, Alfskr," Maëlys demanded, the flat of the blade now pressing against his throat. "Use your words."

Within seconds, details came spilling out of his mouth: names of those involved and most importantly, the warehouse where the 'overages' were being kept. The Khajiit picked at his clawed fingers. "Now, that was really simple, wasn't it 'Lys?"

"Sure was," she agreed. She popped a fingertip up on to the Nord's nose and he flinched. "Hmm…head start time?" She looked over at J'Thaar who nodded back. "Best start running then Alfskr. The Khajiit aren't known for being sluggish, now are they?"

The two never thought they'd see the large man move so fast, but he ran with a renewed sense of purpose and never looked back.

"Today has gone far too smoothly," she said, skepticism in the undertone of her voice.

"Just accept it for once," he growled back. "Now don't we still have some mead inside waiting for us?"

"You and your bloody mead," she said, shaking her head.

"Could be worse," he shrugged.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Could be your damned whores."

* * *

><p>The warehouse Seven-Spears mentioned was out on the docks. J'Thaar and Maëlys were tough, but it was a bad idea to go wandering into Argonian gang territory after dark no matter <em>who <em>you were. J'Thaar thought it better to find somewhere better than the stupid Bee and Barb to celebrate their good fortune, some not-so-quiet corner for some roast chicken and a bottle or five of the strongest mead in town.

"Not the Canal," Maëlys said flatly. "I'm not going to the Canal with you again."

J'Thaar blinked. "How did you know I was going to suggest the Canal?"

"Because you _always _suggest the bloody Canal," she groaned. "Every time I come with you to the Canal, it's the same thing—you talk about how it's been too long since you and I have spent time together to spend some of this money we're making, then you get drunk and wander off. I end up drinking by myself and having to teach a Canal regular or two some manners, and when I've had my fill of that and come to find you, you're already on the sugar and ears deep in some whore's tits."

"Well of _course _I wander off," J'Thaar said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You never want to get chicken."

Maëlys rolled her eyes.

_Always with the eyes, _he grumbled to himself. Any time he wanted to grab a drink and a bite with her, the petulant little manmer would always find something to gripe about. Why couldn't she put her negativity on hold for one bloody evening and at least _sample _what he was selling? If she'd only stop being so Gods-damned narrow-minded she might actually enjoy herself.

J'Thaar placed his hand on his heart and looked to the night sky. "On my honor, I will not forsake you this fine evening."

Maëlys snorted. "Your 'honor,' huh?"

The Khajiit rolled _his _eyes now. "Yes, my honor. I will not abandon you for even my most favored harlots. Not even if they are offering a two-for-one bargain."

"Fine," the Breton sighed. "But if you _do _run off, when I find you I'll set your ears on fire."

A toothy grin stretched across J'Thaar's face. "Ha! Marvelous. To the canals, then. First round's on me."

"Damned right, it is," Maëlys muttered.

The lower walkway of Riften's Grand Canal used to be a thriving center of commerce that rivaled the city's bustling marketplace. Nowadays, however, it was mostly avoided by the more well-to-do members of society for fear they might end up beaten senseless and thrown into the murky channel by disgruntled drunkards. What once were shops had mostly become saloons whose regular patrons were a mix of ill-tempered gamblers, malicious loan sharks, swindlers, gangsters and prostitutes.

J'Thaar loved the Canal. On top of everything else, the food was spectacular.

The Khajiit's pace slowed as he took a moment to size up the three buxom Wood Elf beauties waving to him and motioning for him to come do business. Ah, how those big brown eyes and pointy ears made his loins stir every time …

A sharp jab in his ribs brought him back to Nirn. Maëlys and her bloody pointy elbows.

"Don't even think about it, you lecherous boob. You swore to me on your honor that you wouldn't go gallivanting off into the night with your whores."

J'Thaar rubbed the sore spot in his ribs. "What?" he asked innocently. "I never said I wouldn't look."

Maëlys shook her head as he took the lead once more, guiding her further down the walkway. For as long as the cat drew breath, he would think with his prick. Sheogorath must have pulled some special lever in her head all those years ago to make her stick with this wanton pile of flea bait.

J'Thaar cleared a path through the drunken rabble to a nearby saloon and plopped himself down at the bar with a satisfied smile, bidding her to sit next to him. A fight had broken out on the far side of the saloon floor. Apart from some cheers of encouragement, nobody paid it any mind. He ordered two meads while Maëlys shouted at the brawlers.

"I've seen newborns swing harder, you lazy milk drinkers! Give it some effort!"

J'Thaar chuckled.

Quickly losing interest in the sad excuse for a brawl, Maëlys turned back to the bar. She paused halfway through the motion; the tankard in front of her was enormous, and it was filled nearly to the brim. Now she knew why the Khajiit was drunk so many nights.

He hoisted his drink. "To our continued success."

Maëlys cautiously slowly reached for her tankard, looking almost as though she thought the thing would come to life and eat her. J'Thaar suppressed an outward chortle, but on the inside he was howling with laughter. He fully intended to get the Breton out-of-her-mind drunk tonight.

The Khajiit spotted a familiar Redguard man at a nearby table.

"Hail, Rajeed!"

The Redguard set his glass down and swiveled his head to face the source of the call. As he turned, Maëlys could see a lump of scar tissue where the upper part of his ear ought to have been.

"What do you want, J'Thaar?" the man asked sourly.

"Come now, Rajeed," he replied, "that's no way to greet a friend! How about a game of cards with myself and my associate here?" He clapped the Breton on the back, causing her to nearly choke on her sip of mead.

"Oh no," the Redguard said with a wave of his hand. "No more. Not with you. Not after the last time."

"You're not still sore about that ear, are you? Look, the whore was drunk and—"

"I said _no_, J'Thaar."

The Khajiit shrugged. "Suit yourself, your mirthless killjoy." He put his tankard to his lips and took a long pull, finishing off a good third of his mead before setting the drink down with a burp and a sigh of contentment. He reached into his pocket and produced a small metal bottle.

Maëlys cast a sidelong glance at his moon sugar vessel as the Khajiit wiggled it back and forth.

"How about it, friend?" J'Thaar smiled, eyebrow raised. "You know you want to."

"All right, all right … fine."

J'Thaar twisted the cap off the little bottle as Maëlys held her hand out. He tapped a small amount into her palm and watched with glee as the Breton licked it all up in one.

"Good on you, 'Lys," he chuckled as he followed suit.

The powder only took moments to kick in. J'Thaar developed a nice buzz but remained mostly himself. Maëlys, who was neither Khajiit nor a regular user of the stuff, was a different story. Her whole demeanor changed; she was smiling and laughing and guzzling her drink with reckless abandon, patting him on his leg and telling him she was glad she came with him tonight. She said she hoped they got in a fight tonight so he could show the two mouth-breathing milk drinkers in the corner how to throw a proper uppercut. J'Thaar laughed a hearty laugh and tousled the hair on the top of the Breton's head. She was a lot more fun when she got sugared up.

The drinks wore down after a little bit. He dropped the required coin on the counter, plus a hefty tip, and ordered two more. Mere moments after he and Maëlys toasted, the attitude in the saloon suddenly shifted.

Wanders-The-Shores stood just inside the doorway with three burly, disheveled Nords standing next to him. Two of them carried daggers; one of them had an axe.

J'Thaar didn't care. He was too focused on the Argonian, for the scaly twit was in rare form tonight. Wanders-The-Shores had on an absurd orange cap with the feather that looked longer than its wearer's tail. An oversized pendant dangled from a thick, poorly-crafted gold chain around the lizard's neck. The trousers, which looked two sizes too small, were the same wretched puce as the tunic the Argonian had worn earlier. To top it all off, the silly sod was wearing boots that were furrier than the Khajiit was.

He didn't even try to hold back the fit of raucous laughter that tore him. It wasn't long before the whole saloon joined in, clapping and whistling as the fuming Argonian and his entourage made for the intoxicated pair.

J'Thaar had to wipe away the tears before he could look at the Argonian at all. He was smiling so hard it almost hurt; it took every bit of strength he had not to burst into laughter again when the lizard halted in front of him and put hands on hips like a frustrated grandmother.

"Well now, if it isn't our old friend Wanders-The-Shores!" the Khajiit grinned, hoisting his flagon and taking a giant gulp. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "What brings you here among the rabble of the lower walkway? Surely such a place does not befit a gentleman with such … refined tastes."

Maëlys snorted into her drink.

"I've been looking for you," the Argonian sneered. "Wasn't hard to track you down. Wherever there's Bosmer cunny to be bought, there's a certain drink-addled cat looking to stick his nose in it."

Wanders-The-Shores was seething. J'Thaar thanked the Gods for inspiring him to come here tonight; the scene was simply priceless.

He took another swig of mead. "You know Shores, it's funny—I think you're the only person I've ever met who stays ugly after I've been drinking."

Out of nowhere, the Nord with the axe spoke. It caught J'Thaar off guard a little; he'd forgotten the man was there.

"Now's the time for us to talk and you to listen, furball, so shut your fucking mouth or—"

"Or what?" the Khajiit interjected. "Your employer here will beat me over the head with that gilded dinner plate he's wearing around his neck?"

The Nord stepped forward, as if to grab him. The Khajiit put his foot in the man's hip and kicked him back, sending him staggering into the table behind him. The women sitting there voiced their displeasure as their drinks spilled onto the floor.

"Come near me again and I'll tear your fucking face off your head," J'Thaar growled.

Maëlys hadn't spoken a word. She didn't need to speak. She had her right hand up; blue sparks crackled between her fingers.

The big Nord roared and took his axe in hand. He didn't take two steps before J'Thaar's dagger was out and slashing across his neck. The man's throat split open like an old rope, spraying blood onto the Khajiit's shirt. Many of the saloon's patrons shouted angrily; some of the whores screamed in fear.

The two other Nords, enraged by the dispatching of their comrade, rushed him with daggers drawn. J'Thaar grabbed his tankard and flung its contents into one man's face. He sidestepped the other Nord, quickly switching his grip on his dagger and plunging it into the man's upper back. The fur on the back of his neck was made to stand on end by a bolt of electricity surging past his face; the Nord he'd doused in mead dropped to floor with eyes wide open, a smoldering crater in his cheek.

J'Thaar slowly lifted his eyes to meet those of Wanders-The-Shores. The terrified Argonian stood frozen in shock and disbelief. When he took an angry step toward the lizard with ears flattened and teeth bared, he spun on his heel and made a break for the door. The Redguard Rajeed stuck out his foot; the lizard tripped and smashed through an empty chair on his way to the stone floor.

J'Thaar grabbed the bleeding and wheezing Wanders-The-Shores by the back of his shirt and dragged him outside without saying a word. He brought the lizard over to a nearby chicken vendor's cart and turned him onto his back. He balled up the lizard's collar in his fist and punched the struggling Argonian across the snout until his arms dropped to the ground. He stomped on the Argonian's shoulder until bone crunched underneath his foot; the lizard shrieked as J'Thaar ground down with his heel. Everyone on the walkway had his eyes trained on the scene unfolding before him.

Maëlys showed up at her partner's side with his dagger in hand, blood still dripping from its blade.

"Teach him a lesson," she said coldly.

He almost snatched the dagger out of Maëlys's hand. He looked down at the glassy-eyed Argonian and slowly licked the blood off the flat of his blade. The lizard half-whimpered, half-moaned in response.

J'Thaar grabbed the wrist belonging to the badly-damaged arm and used it to wrench Wanders-The-Shores back onto his belly; the lizard screamed in agony. He lowered himself, putting his knee in the small of the Argonian's back. He looked to Maëlys.

"Grab him under the chin and hold his head up so he can't get away."

Whatever music had been playing before had now stopped. Everybody stood still and watched as J'Thaar gripped the Argonian's tail and started to saw through it at the base.

* * *

><p>Slipping through Riften in the darkness was old hat to J'Thaar and Maëlys. Navigating the winding canals and sewers of the underworld was all but second nature to the pair, having made so many escapes from precarious situations in their tenure together. They knew where it was safe to hide, where to emerge to the surface streets, the best places to…<em>hide<em> certain large things you didn't need any longer.

Covered in blood though, was another story. She was not so much covered as smattered by some errant spray, likely from one of J'Thaar's sweeping swings of his blade. But the Khajiit was drenched. If she hadn't known him any better, she'd have been worried that some of it was his own. But she _did_ know him and it _wasn't_ his.

The pair hastily decided that making their way home past the guards would be much easier if their clothing was soaking wet and clean, rather than dry and blood soaked. A quick rinse in Lake Honrich would solve the problem; despite the fact that with the sun down, the water would be cold as a witch's tit. Still, it was better than having to worry about getting into trouble with the guards.

Not that either of the two would have a problem with dispatching anyone else that night.

As they neared the end of the canal where it emptied into the lake, they both stood on the walkway above the water, surveying it for slaughterfish or other undesirable sea life. The twin moons reflected on the glassy surface of the calm lake, surrounded by faint auroras that characterized the night sky. If the two were the sort to care about that kind of thing, it would have been a perfect night for watching the skies.

Instead, Maëlys – in her still partially intoxicated state, heavily influenced by the moon sugar she gave into earlier that night – found herself teetering on the edge of the dock, fascinated by the colors reflecting on the water. She wasn't paying attention to J'Thaar as he took off his soiled clothes. He crouched low to submerge the bloodied shirt and trousers, grumbling the whole time about how he'd barely even had enough to drink to haze his vision. While it had started out to be an entertaining evening for the two, the appearance of the Argonian and his Nord thugs put a damper on the mood quickly. Still, it was satisfying to know that if the lizard hadn't bled out from the removal of his tail, he'd be able to see the tailless bastard around the city when he'd recovered. Some things were even worth more than a good night of drinking and sex. _Not many things_, he considered internally, _but this? Definitely…_

He glanced sideways at Maëlys – still standing on the edge of the wooden planking, and now reaching for the lights in the water.

"For fuck's sakes, woman," he growled. "Stop dancing with the imaginary fish and get yourself cleaned up. When I'm finished here, I'm going home and I will _not_ be waiting for your crazy arse as I sit here in cold, wet clothing." He smacked her on the ass, not thinking that she would even be affected by the contact. But her balance was neither steady nor reliable and was sent face first into the cold water below.

When she surfaced, a screech was ripped from her mouth. "Gods-damned Khajiit!" The freezing water had immediately sobered her thoughts, and while her vision was still not at its best, she could see J'Thaar well enough to aim a palm at him; one that was suddenly covered in a ball of flame.

He dropped the clothes in his hands, facing the palms towards her in feigned innocence. "Easy there, 'Lys. I wasn't trying to toss you in the drink. But look at the bright side – now you won't have to worry about the blood on you."

"Fuck you, J'Thaar."

"You offering?" He snarled his lip over his tooth momentarily. She narrowed her eyes at him and growled, extinguishing the flame in her hand. He moved out of his crouch and sat on the dock cross-legged and picked up the shirt from where he dropped it.

The water wasn't particularly deep where she stood, which made it easier for her to make her way to the dock. She unwrapped the wet green scarf from her neck and tossed it on the dock angrily. With shivering fingers, she peeled the soaked shirt up and over her head and focused on rubbing the fabric against itself to remove the blood that was splattered across the front of it. When she returned her attention to the Khajiit, he was blatantly staring at her as she stood halfway out of the water…halfway bare.

"Stop staring at me," she demanded. "I'm not one of your Bosmer whores."

He chuckled as his eyes lingered for a few more moments before he focused back on getting the blood out of his clothes once more. She certainly wasn't a Bosmer…mere wisp that she was. But, a naked woman was a naked woman and J'Thaar wasn't picky.

When she was satisfied that she managed to get enough of the blood out, she carefully hung the shirt off the end of the dock to dry and pulled herself up to sit on the planks beside him.

"Phew!" she exclaimed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to get her blood back to flowing through them. "I don't know what's worse. Falling in there, or sitting up here when the winds hit me. It's _really_ cold."

His eyes quite obviously travelled down to her breasts again. "I noticed."

"I am going to rip your—"

"Settle down, Maëlys," he interrupted.

She muttered something under her breath that he couldn't hear and stared off across the lake towards the docks. Something caught her eye, and she leaned across in front of J'Thaar to get a better view. Her tangled wet hair fell across his shoulder.

"You know, if you just lowered your head a little bit…"

She spun her head around to face him, recognizing how her head hovered above his lap and drove an elbow into his side.

"If you'd take your mind off of your cock for once, maybe you'd realize just how close we are to that warehouse," she said with a frown. "I'm going over there."

She sat up and pushed herself back into the water, slightly more adjusted to the temperature than the first time she was in. She quietly moved her arms under the water, breaking the surface only minimally.

"Maëlys!" he whispered gruffly. "Just…_wait!_" Tossing aside his now partially bloodied shirt, he braced himself for the temperature of the water and slid off the dock.

He wouldn't have caught up to her without attracting attention to them both, and so slowly made his way towards the warehouse that Alfskr told them about as he near pissed himself outside the tavern. He continued to glide across the water and could see that she had stopped, putting up her hand to signal for him to slow down. When he reached where she was treading water silently, she nodded her head towards the door of the warehouse. His eyes turned in that direction and he caught sight of what she had seen – a Dunmer, unlocking the door to the warehouse. The dark elf looked around; J'Thaar could only assume he didn't wish to be followed. When he was satisfied that no one was watching him, he entered the warehouse and shut the door behind him.

"Recognize the Dunmer?" he asked.

"Not at all," she replied. "And I think between the two of us, we know all of them in the city. And most that travel here regularly. Not to mention, the Argonians let him through the docks to begin with." She looked back at him, concern on her face. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

He continued to keep himself afloat. "So what then? First thing in the morning we head down here? See if we can't put an end to all this?"

She pursed her lips. "You've already forgotten about me one time too many this week. I'll just drop by your room when I'm ready," she suggested. "Try not to be throat deep in a Bosmer for once?"

"Can't promise anything," he said, licking his lips.

She expelled a harsh breath in annoyance and began the long swim back to the dock. The next day was going to bring trouble for them both – she was certain of it. Though J'Thaar didn't seem to be nearly as worried as she was, so perhaps she was overreacting. Either way, it was going to be a long night.

Especially with her inability to remember bits and pieces of the night after she succumbed to the pressure over the moon sugar. She wasn't about to let on that she didn't to him either – J'Thaar would _never_ have let her live that down. Her only hope was that she didn't do anything _too_ stupid.

Maëlys _hated_ when he had something to hold over her head like that.

_Gods-damned Khajiit…_


	2. A Sticky Situation

A/N: Well now. When johmatmarkun and I first started hashing out story ideas, the topic of sex between J'Thaar and Maëlys came up. Yeah, okay, so I was the one to bring it up…what of it? Anyway…how do we deal with it? Has it happened in the past? If it happens in the story, will it be a one-time thing? We thought we had all the answers.

Then _this_ chapter happened, and well…you know what they say about the best laid plans. Or maybe you don't, but regardless, all our plans got blown to smithereens when we wrote this one. So here it is…our very first warning (in a series of warnings to come I'm sure) about the fact that there is going to be a _lot_ of [rough] sex in this story. If you're not comfortable with that, we suggest not sticking around. But if you are, then we sincerely hope you like what you read.

We're having far too much fun writing it to stop now. I am apparently now obsessed with word porn. I'd venture to say johmatmarkun has the same thoughts on the issue as I do…

And yes, it's _another_ long one…enjoy!

* * *

><p><em><strong>A Sticky Situation<strong>_

The impromptu swim in Lake Honrich coupled with a good night's rest did wonders for Maëlys' sobriety. She awoke as she usually did, with her fingers stretched on to the pillow adjacent her. Some days she woke up thinking she could have used a warm body next to her. After the frigid temperatures of the lake the night before, it was one such morning. When she opened her eyes seeing nothing but the vacant pillow beside her, she sighed. Of course, waking up to some unknown face in front of her could have been even worse, so she counted her blessings for the moment.

The coin she and J'Thaar brought in on a regular basis allowed her to rent a fairly nice room in one of Riften's not-so-shady inns almost indefinitely. She sometimes wondered why they didn't just find accommodations for the both of them – it sure would have saved a lot of coin. But then she recalled his penchant for the seedier folk of the Rift handily and tossed aside the notion as quickly as it arrived.

Maëlys rolled over, flipping her legs off the side of the bed and pushing the covers off of her. Today would potentially be a turning point for both she and J'Thaar. With the scam he discovered not one day earlier, he predicted they were losing hundreds of septims a day. Unacceptable for both of them. If they were able to track down the source as they both suspected they would, she couldn't imagine how much more money they would have in their possession. But there was no point in getting ahead of herself; first she needed to prepare for the potential attack on the warehouse and retrieve the Khajiit.

As she gathered up a selection of daggers and potions, her stomach began to growl. She so rarely partook in the mead and sugar J'Thaar offered that she'd forgotten just how much it stirred her appetite the next day. She quickly changed into simple trousers and a tunic and strapped her belt to her waist, slipping the blades into places both seen and unseen.

She stepped in front of the small broken piece of mirrored glass hanging in her small privy. Running her fingers through her tangled hair to smooth it out, she noticed she hadn't yet wrapped her scarf round her neck. The long jagged scar that ran from one end of her neck to the other seemed to her to stick out like a sore thumb from the rest of her relatively unblemished neck. Several other scars from the scratch of a sabrecat's claws upon her chin and cheek were just as noticeable. Still she never minded those as much as the ones caused by the bandit's blade that was the very same responsible for taking her own mother's life. Sighing, she reached for the scarf she had hung from the handle of the door to allow it to dry from the previous night. When she had wrapped it around her neck, a familiar sense of strength and resolution filled her heart once again.

When she passed by the bed, she grabbed for the pack she had carefully filled with potions and elixirs and headed for the door of her small room. She made her way down the stairs and through the small tavern area of the inn, pushing the main door open quickly and stepping out into the bright sunshine. A day like this in Riften came far too infrequently; her intensely pale skin evidence of that. More often than not, the lakeside city was blanketed in a thick fog; and that was when the thieves were out in spades.

Her stomach growled again, reminding her to stop by the market on her way to retrieve J'Thaar. The surface streets of the city were bustling and as she neared the railing overlooking the canal below, she could see the lower levels were just as busy. With any luck, the docks might not have been so busy that day…_if_ they hurried. Picking up her pace, she made it to the market in no time.

The half-breed Dunmer was there with her wares that day. She often only sold meats…sometimes cheeses, and on the off day, a pastry or two might be available. Maëlys had her fingers crossed for the latter, knowing the cat was fond of many a sweet thing. As she made her way through the stalls, she heard a familiar voice off to the side.

"Hey there, lass. Need any special concoctions today?"

She stopped and turned to face the voice's owner. "Brynjolf. I wouldn't buy one of your counterfeit potions if I—"

"Easy," he interrupted. "Keep it down, will you?"

She stepped towards him, narrowing her eyes. "What's the matter? Don't want word getting out that your alchemy skills are for shit?" she whispered hoarsely.

He smiled his charming smile at her. "Why, whatever do you mean?" he asked innocently.

She spun on her heel and began to head off again, but he called out after her.

"You know, Maëlys," he said, "you really should consider our offer to you. Ditch the cat. You'd have plenty success in our…organization."

"Ha!" she exclaimed, laughing loudly. She turned around and walked straight up to him. "The girls in your gang not treating you right?" She placed her small hands across his wide chest and pressed her body close to him. "You looking for someone to give it up faster than those prudes?"

"Wouldn't turn away some extra warmth in my bed at night, lass," he cooed.

"Brynjolf," she growled. "Get your dirty hands off of my coin purse."

He pulled back the hand that had slipped behind her and stepped away, shrugging. "Can't fault a man for trying."

"Is it any wonder you fools are failing?" she mused as she once again turned and headed for the Dunmer's wagon, leaving the Nord in her wake.

When she reached the wagon, she eyed its contents carefully, scanning over them for what she was hoping to find.

She nodded to the woman. "Marise."

"Maëlys," the elf replied. "Looking for anything special today? Perhaps something you'll actually pay for?"

The Breton's face morphed into a frown. "I'm hurt, Marise. I _almost_ always pay you. Since I'm feeling generous right now, I'll pay you today," she said with a shrug.

Marise sighed. "What do you want?" Sometimes it was prudent to accept whatever customers came your way.

"Something sweet. Do you have those pastries that J'Thaar was raving about a few weeks back?" she asked.

"With the boiled crème? Actually, I do," the Dunmer replied. "How many do you need?"

"Two," she replied. "No, make that three. And some of those honey sticks too."

Marise put her hand out in front of her. "Gold first."

Maëlys rolled her eyes, clucking her tongue behind her teeth. "I'm _hurt_ that you don't trust me." She tossed her eight septims from her pocket.

The elf stuck up two fingers. "You're missing some."

"Details," she huffed.

When she had the gold she required, Marise turned around to retrieve the pastries behind her. Maëlys nonchalantly swiped a nearby horker loaf and several chicken breasts while the elf had her back turned, quickly slipping the meat into her pack. When the Dunmer turned back around, the Breton put on a sweet smile and reached for her purchase.

"Pleasure doing business, Marise."

She slung her pack over her shoulder and carried on towards the inn where J'Thaar stayed.

When she arrived at his door, she placed her fingers lightly upon the handle and froze as she heard noises from within.

_Was that a…giggle?_

Her face hardened and she spun the handle quickly and threw open the door. While the scene did not shock her, she could feel anger rising from her stomach to her throat. Her cheeks burned as she scanned the room, noting the metal bottle she knew he carried his moon sugar in, open on the table next to him…J'Thaar sprawled across his bed, leaning against the head of it…and one of his fucking Bosmers; slurping at him loudly with her ass up in the air and his hand on the back of her head.

He turned towards her with a half-dazed smile. "Maëlys…you're earlier than I expected."

"J'Tharr…you fucking ass," she snarled at him. "We have _work_ to do. You're already sugared up. And it's _only the morning!_ Oh, and this whore? Just fucking tops it all, doesn't she?"

"Ah, but she's a sweet thing," he replied. "Let me introduce you to—"

"I don't _care_ who she is!" Maëlys shrieked at him. She stormed towards the bed, throwing her body at the elf and sending her flying across the room. "I can't fucking believe you, J'Thaar!" He readjusted his trousers to re-dress himself as he watched her with an amused look upon his face.

Maëlys stomped around the bed towards where the elf had landed. "You need to go," she demanded, taking hold of one of the girl's long and pointed ears between her thumb and forefinger. The elf cried out in pain as the Breton's fingernails dug into her skin. She yanked her up to her feet and dragged her towards the door. She pushed her to the door and then spun back to collect the whore's belongings, meager as they were. Whipping the clothes at the elf, she returned to the door, pushing her out as she clutched the clothing to her chest. She slammed the door behind her and turned back to glare at the Khajiit.

"I brought you something for your sweet tooth, but apparently you've already seen to that." Her voice was shaking with anger…dripping with sarcasm. She tossed the food she had purchased directly at his head. "Did you completely lose your mind?" she growled. "Have you _already_ forgotten what we need to do today? How we need to be at our best? Neither of us has _any_ idea what's waiting for us at that warehouse."

He was about to answer when a quiet voice called through the door. "What about my coin?"

J'Thaar looked at her and she gestured to the door. "Oh, by all means, _cat_!" she hissed, stepping out of his way.

He grabbed several coins from the nightstand adjacent to the bed and headed to the door. He watched Maëlys carefully as he approached; could see her seething as he passed. He quickly opened the door, tossing the coins to the elf still standing naked outside. "Put your clothes on, dear," he told her. "I'm not paying for merchandise that others get for free."

When he closed the door, he turned around to face Maëlys once more. "You worry too much," he said.

She had stomped away, but at his words immediately spun around and advanced upon him with great speed. When she stood directly in front of him, she drove the heel of her palm up into the Khajiit's chin. It was a move J'Thaar himself had taught her; the irony was not lost on her, and she smirked in satisfaction as he stumbled backwards.

J'Thaar was enraged. He slapped her hard across the face, and before she could recover he grabbed the Breton's wrists and lifted them above her head as he drove her back into the wall. He glared straight at her, his eyes hard and unmoving as they bore into hers.

"Do that again and I swear to Merrunz Ja'Khajiit, I will carve out your lungs for trophies," he growled.

Her breathing turned shallow. J'Thaar had never assaulted her like that; the worst he'd ever done was give her the recent smack on her arse that sent her into the frigid waters of Lake Honrich. The expression written on her stinging cheeks was not of fear, not of anger, but excitement. She swallowed hard; he thought he saw the glimmer of a wicked smile in her eyes.

The Khajiit's gaze trailed downward slowly. Some feeling of wretched arousal roiled within him, and he found it difficult to hide the exhilaration he felt welling up from deep in his stomach. "I will carve out your lungs … and I will feed your corpse to the slaughterfish."

He moved to within a whisker's length of the Breton's reddened cheek. He brought his lips to her ear; his breath was hot and heavy on her neck. He felt her wrists give a little squirm.

"I will watch," he whispered, "as their teeth tear the flesh from your bones." He kicked her legs apart and pressed himself against her, ever-so-slightly grinding the rising bulge in his trousers against her upper thigh. He let go of a wrist to pull at the ridiculous green scarf she wore to cover her scar before ripping it off her neck and running claws along the length of the blemish.

Maëlys's breasts heaved against J'Thaar. The soft fur of his face brushing against her ear made her shiver in awful delight. She felt an unquenchable desire growing within her to stroke him … anywhere … so long as she could feel that soft fur beneath her fingertips. The closest she'd ever come to that feeling was a particularly hairy Nord one night not long ago. But it wasn't like this—not by far. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes before focusing on J'Thaar's threat. He _had_ to know what his violent words were doing to her. That they sent tremors up her spine that refused to dissipate. He was so close to her … the length of his body unrelenting against hers.

"It appears you mean to carve them out from the inside, cat," she grinned, rubbing her nose against his cheek.

The contact made the Khajiit's fur stand on end. His tail flailed to and fro behind him as he brought his eyes to the front.

"Perhaps I will add a broken back to your list of woes, yes?"

Maëlys shoved her lips into his, furiously forcing her tongue into his mouth. Her fists clenched in the Khajiit's tight grip. She sucked at his bottom lip and pulled her head back slowly, locking eyes with him before biting down with a lustful grin.

"I dare you," she whispered in a throaty voice that even at her most violent, J'Thaar had never heard her use.

The Khajiit growled and released her other wrist. He worked his fingers into her hair and tugged her head back, making her gasp loudly. The Breton reached down and fumbled with the sash round his waist, tugging it until it was loose enough for her to snake her hand into his trousers. Her fingers closed around J'Thaar's throbbing flesh. She roughly dragged her teeth across her lower lip when she felt the pressure he exerted upon her hand. She sucked in a breath, wondering what it might feel like for him to be inside of her. It wasn't as though she hadn't considered it before, but this time it felt like a real possibility—especially if his reaction to her tiny fingers upon him was any indication.

"My, my," she murmured, "and all this time I thought only a Wood Elf bitch with too much eyeshadow could catch your attention."

J'Thaar released the grip on her hair and drove his hand up the front of the Breton's tunic as she stroked him, resting his palm on her breast. It was evident she wore nothing underneath. _And she chides _me _about class, _he thought. He nipped at her lips and worked his fingers into her flesh.

"Khajiit takes what he can get," he quipped. The Breton's grip tightened; as did his.

He grabbed a handful of her arse, jerking her away from the wall and pulling her harder into him. The hand in his trousers wandered further forward until Maëlys encountered his other head for the first time. Her breathing quickened as she felt the little barbs upon it beneath her fingertips.

_I'll bet those hurt, _she thought, biting her lip as she rubbed her thumb over the head she regularly teased him for thinking with all too often. The barbs weren't dissuading her from teasing him very differently right now, though.

J'Thaar refused to wait any longer. He wrenched at the fabric of his shirt, turning it inside out as he pulled it over his head and chucked it against the wall. Maëlys was on him before he could get his trousers past his knees; she grabbed a hold of his tail and pulled as she kissed him again, forcing him to shuffle backwards toward the bed. He snarled into her mouth and grabbed her shoulders, yanking her around and throwing her onto the mattress. He peered into her eyes, reveling in the way she panted and licked her lips as she looked back at him. He kicked his shoes clear across the room and shucked his trousers.

Maëlys followed his lead and slid her feet out of her boots. She unfastened her belt and hooked her thumbs into her waistband, lifting her legs as she slowly peeled off her trousers. She giggled as she watched J'Thaar stroke himself to the sight before him, his eyebrow raising as he once again confirmed the minx wore nothing under her clothing. She beckoned him closer and slipped her hand between her legs seductively, running her middle finger through her folds, coating it with her desire. The Khajiit settled between her calves and leaned forward; she lifted her hand to his face and bit her lip again as he sucked her finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue along its length.

J'Thaar swiftly rid her of her tunic. Her breasts looked so much better in the light, and he couldn't help but let his eyes linger …

Maëlys raised an eyebrow. "Are you just going to sit there staring at my tits like a dunce, or are you going to fuck me?"

He grinned wildly and reached down, guiding himself toward his goal. The Breton squeaked softly as he met her lips. When he pushed into her, she screamed through clenched teeth, twisting the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. J'Thaar closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment, sinking himself fully into her and grinding against her as his hips met hers. He reveled in her pain and her wet heat.

_Gods, she feels good._

"Gods-damned _Khajiit_!" she growled. The intense pain of the barbs ripped through her, causing her to writhe below him. As much as it hurt, she couldn't help but wrap her legs around his waist and pull him in deeper. She punched him in the chest. "_Fuck _me, damn it!"

J'Thaar threw the Breton's right leg over his shoulder. No tender motions, no sweet caresses, no letting the girl get used to his barbs—just right down to business. Cries turned to groans as he plunged into her again and again, each stroke as deep and as hard as the last. Through her pain, she begged him to not be gentle … to break her. He nipped at her calf just hard enough for his sharp teeth to break skin; she slapped him across the face just as hard as he'd done to her before. The bedframe creaked and whined beneath them, its legs scraping against the floorboards in time with the Khajiit's thrusts.

Maëlys' eyes screwed shut. J'Thaar would have none of it. "Look at me," he whispered. His command went unheeded, so he grabbed a handful of the Breton's thick, dark hair and tugged at it mercilessly. "Fucking _look _at me, girl!"

He figured it would get her attention, and it did. She glared up at him, gritting her teeth hard. She slapped him again. "Bastard _cat_!" she hissed "Say that again and I'll claw your fucking eyes out …"

She trailed off as her body began to quake underneath him. J'Thaar saw the toes above his shoulder curling hard and picked up his pace. He let go of her hair and grabbed her underneath her jaw, urged to purpose by her cries. Her perfect pink nipples stood rigid as her leg shook violently beside the Khajiit's neck … and suddenly her body relaxed.

J'Thaar stopped and dropped the girl's leg. He dove in for another fierce kiss; she sent tiny sparks from her fingertips through the back of his neck as she stroked his fur. Without warning, she grabbed his ear and twisted it hard, making him yelp and fall to the side. Without letting him slip out of her, Maëlys rolled on top of him. She ran her fingers over the Khajiit's taut chest, admiring the scars on his belly. With a quick rake of her nails, she aimed to add a few more to his torso. He hissed angrily and grabbed at her wrists as blood trickled through his fur. When she began to gyrate her hips, however, his whole demeanor changed; his eyes rolled back in his head as it dropped to the mattress.

Maëlys laughed wickedly and grabbed his ear again, forcing his eyes back open. "Oh no you don't. I'm not one of your stupid whores. You _look_ at me, you lascivious shit!"

J'Thaar responded by grabbing her hips, puncturing her flesh with his claws. He refused to be her plaything. The pain only seemed to excite her further. Her hips rocked faster; he bucked up into her, desperately trying to reach as deep inside her as he could. Droplets of sweat dripped from her chin onto his belly, and her hair shone in the light as she tossed it back.

_The little bitch is gorgeous on top, _J'Thaar thought. He'd have to remember that.

He saw her mouth fall open. He felt the vibrations coursing through her body as her movements became more erratic. She looked down at him with her eyes wide, running her hands up her body and toying with her breasts as she moaned. Her cries became more frantic; he couldn't help but respond by securing his hold on her hips and thrusting into her even more forcefully. Her whole body shuddered and she drove her teeth into her lower lip, breaking the skin and drawing blood. For a second time, she ground to a halt and sighed contentedly, reaching back down to flick J'Thaar's nose. The cat was insatiable, but she was spent and happy enough to revel in the exhilaration of the moment.

The Khajiit, however, would have none of it and, seizing his opportunity, rolled Maëlys over before she had a chance to protest. Withdrawing from her abruptly, he brought her legs together, turned her onto her belly and quickly straddled her hamstrings.

"Oh?" she giggled over her shoulder, anticipating the painful ecstasy of having him inside her once more.

J'Thaar aligned himself once again and slid back into her. He heard the Breton's whimper; saw her bite the sheet. He placed his hands on her back and lightly dragged his claws down its length until he had her cheeks in his fingers.

_Divines and Daedra_, he said in his mind, _whichever one of you bestowed such on arse upon this skinny runt deserves a new fucking temple._

There was no holding back anymore. J'Thaar began to pump in and out of the woman beneath him, building up speed until he crashed into her like a raging white water rapid on every powerful thrust. Maëlys buried her face in the mattress, screaming into it. He felt her squeezing him, her arse jiggling as he met her flesh again and again, over and over until that familiar sensation took hold of his loins. He grunted almost menacingly as the feeling built, rising higher and higher, causing his back, legs and arms to tighten. He held it in as long as he could, letting it intensify—and with a final loud groan he released inside her, twitching and pulsating until he was utterly spent.

J'Thaar collapsed to the side. Maëlys moved in close and rested her head on the inside of his arm.

"Well," she breathed, "that was … unexpected. And unpredictably pleasant."

J'Thaar smiled. "Yes. Not bad."

The Breton tweaked his nipple roughly. "Kiss my arse."

"Oh, I'll do better than kiss it," the Khajiit laughed.

Maëlys giggled. "Later," she said, stroking the cat's bloody chest. "We still have work to do."

She winced as she sat up on the edge of the bed. J'Thaar grinned even wider; the barbs got them every time.

"Look in the top drawer of the nightstand," he said. "Look for the blue jar; there should still be plenty of salve left. It'll fix you right up."

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Well prepared, huh?" she teased.

He sat up behind her and wrapped his arms around her belly. The sudden feeling of his fur on her skin made her shiver with delight.

"What can I say? I'm quite popular," J'Thaar replied, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Maëlys closed her eyes and brought her palm to the Khajiit's cheek. She gave it a gentle scratch, smiling to herself as he purred his approval. She ran her fingertips through the fur on his face sensually, then reached up and twisted his ear. His yelp made her giggle inside.

"We have _work, _J'Thaar. Get your furry arse out of bed and get dressed."

He tweaked her nipple in response, then quickly scampered off the bed and across the floor before she could inflict any further pain. Maëlys glowered at him; he just laughed.

"Toss me that salve when you're done. You did a number on my chest, you vicious little bitch."

They both took some time to clean themselves at the washbasin. J'Thaar was slightly unhappy about it; he wanted her scent to linger. The smell of sex always invigorated him, but this time was different. The smell of Maëlys' sweat and arousal sent his head into the clouds and made him feel like he could fight and fuck the whole world to death. Still, walking around town would ripen him until he smelled like a troll's arsehole, and he couldn't have that.

The Breton leaned against the wall by the door. She grumbled to herself about how long J'Thaar took to dress. She was a woman, Divines' sakes, and if she was comfortable slipping into whatever she had lying around then there was no reason for the Khajiit to groom himself to the extent he always did. However, though she would never admit it directly, she had to hand it to him—J'Thaar knew how to dress. The tan of his light jacket accentuated the brown in his fur, and the cut of his dark trousers was perfect. The black sash really tied it all together.

"You're such a fop, you know that?"

"Some of us don't have a perky pair of tits to help us make a good impression," the Khajiit replied, keeping his eyes in the mirror as he fixed his braids.

Maëlys shook her head. "Are you even armed?"

"Tchah!" he spat, turning to face his partner. "Who do you take me for, woman?"

He opened his jacket. The daggers tucked into his sash were standard, but Maëlys' eyes sparkled when she saw four throwing knives on the inside of each lapel. She remembered the first time she saw him put one dead center in a Nord's throat at fifteen paces; the thought threatened to make her wet again.

"Good. Now, if you're done preening yourself I would very much like to get moving."

* * *

><p>The docks were abuzz with standard daytime activity—fishermen cleaned their catches, sailors unloaded their cargo, captains and overseers made sure everything was in order, and the sounds of shouting, ships' bells and gulls filled the air.<p>

Argonians formed the bulk of the dock workers. J'Thaar felt uncomfortable around so many lizards. He was Khajiit, after all, and more importantly he was a Khajiit with a reputation. Still, most of the workers paid him no mind, and those who did notice his presence did no more than shoot him a disapproving look. He was glad to have many hours of daylight left; had he and Maëlys arrived after dark, things would have been very, very different.

They made their way through the throng of sailors and dock workers to the row of warehouses at the far end; the one they'd seen the conspicuous-looking Dunmer enter the night before was the last one on the left. Maëlys tried the door, but it was locked.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. "Do you think you can pick this?"

"You do it," the Khajiit replied.

"Me? Why me? You're better at this than I am."

"Undoubtedly," J'Thaar said smugly. "However, you are quite short and can easily hide behind me while I keep watch. I have a tail, in case you hadn't noticed."

A fleeting image of pulling the Khajiit backwards by his tail ran through Maëlys's head. She almost giggled.

"Fine," she said. "I don't have anything to pick the lock with. Have you got your tools?"

"Only always," J'Thaar chuckled. He turned slightly to avoid prying eyes and fished two small metal hooks out of pocket, handing them to the Breton behind his back.

The Khajiit grew impatient as the minutes passed. His ears caught the sound of delicate movements within the lock behind him as his eyes scanned the docks for any signs of trouble.

"Hurry _up_," he grumbled. "We don't have all day."

Maëlys growled. "Fuck this."

The sound of hooks tickling tumblers was replaced with a distinctive crackling sound.

"Are you freezing the fucking lock? What's _wrong _with you?" J'Thaar hissed over his shoulder.

"Like you just said," the Breton replied sweetly, "we don't have all bloody day. Now stop your whining and keep watch."

To the Khajiit, the sound of the lock shattering was louder than a giant's fart. Nobody on the docks seemed to notice; they were all just going about their work. J'Thaar's heart, however, was racing with anxiety. It took all his strength to keep his twitching tail from giving them away.

"We're in," Maëlys whispered. "Let's go."

She hurried inside. J'Thaar took one last quick look at the docks; confident no one had seen them, he slipped in after the Breton and shut the door quietly. It wasn't until after realizing there was nobody inside that he spoke again.

"Lys, you can't just go breaking every lock you can't pick," he scolded. "That's how you get caught after the fact, and I'd rather not have you practice on a cell door."

Maëlys's mouth twisted into a cocky half-smirk. "Getting sentimental on me, cat?"

He sighed. "It's bad for my image, dimwit."

"So what would you have me do? Go chat up our pals in the Flagon? Do you really feel like coming with me after Vex almost cut you open?"

J'Thaar laughed. "She wishes. Did you hear the snap? I bet the cunt's wrist is _still_ hurting."

A ghost of a grin flashed across the Breton's lips before she could suppress it. She quickly turned stone-faced once more.

"Whatever," she said. "I got us in here. Let's get to work."

_Work, work, work, always with the stupid work, _the Khajiit thought. His inner voice caricatured her tone: _'We have work to do.' '__**Work**_, _J'Thaar.' 'Let's get to work.' Enough with the work._

The warehouse was three stories high and surprisingly empty. There were several stacks of barrels lining the walls, but a few sniffs revealed only dried fruit and cured meat to be their contents. A large crate in the corner caught Maëlys' attention; while she wandered toward it to investigate, J'Thaar made for a set of stairs. A quick scan of the level showed no doors, merely the walkway that spanned the warehouse's interior. He climbed a second set of stairs; when he reached the top, he found a small office on his right. The door was open.

The desk, like the facility, was mostly bare. There was, however, a book in the center of its surface with a wide red ribbon tucked between its pages. J'Thaar opened the book to where the fabric separated its pages. The ink was dark; the entries were recent.

_Sondas, 25__th__ of Second Seed_

_Materials procured from shipments brought in by local Breton smuggler and Khajiit associate will cover costs nicely. Fire salts and moon sugar in high demand, will fetch hefty price at auction. Five bottles of Colovian brandy set aside for the workers, should keep them from complaining. Cargo is mostly intact._

_Morndas, 26__th__ of Second Seed_

_Paid guards without incident. Arrangements made for auction tomorrow night. Things proceed ahead of schedule. Two pieces of cargo deceased, cause: malnutrition. Inventory: sixteen. Losses acceptable. Shipment due to depart ahead of schedule, barring interference._

_Tirdas, 27__th__ of Second Seed_

_Commissioned Jeeras-Tei to assist with shipping procedures. Received report of local contact Wanders-The-Shores receiving crippling injuries at the hands of Khajiit smuggler J'Thaar, associate of Breton smuggler Maëlys Branoc. Encroachment imminent. Discovery by Branoc and Khajiit unacceptable. Must speak with Jeeras-Tei about dealing with possible threat._

J'Thaar slammed the book shut with a growl. He exited the office and ran back downstairs to the ground level, seething in anger.

"Maëlys!"

"No need to shout, Khajiit," the Breton said from behind him, "I'm right here."

J'Thaar spun around, visibly startled. "By the Gods, woman, are you trying to scare me to death?" She began to speak, but he cut her off. "Slavers stole our merchandise."

The Breton's face went blank. "What?"

"I found the log upstairs. There were entries about fire salts and moon sugar being sold at auction last night, then more entries about pieces of cargo dying. Fucking slavers made off with our Gods-damned goods."

"How do you know it was our stuff?"

"The log mentioned us both by name."

Maëlys's brow furrowed. "How can we be sure the log wasn't talking about some sort of illicit livestock deal? Animals still—"

"Animals don't need to be traded illegally under cover of darkness, and there were no entries written past last night. Besides, the current inventory is at sixteen; sixteen chickens are worth fuck all, sixteen goats isn't even a farm girl's dowry, and even if you could fit sixteen cows in a shipment, _any _loss would not be listed as 'acceptable.' We're dealing with slavers."

The Breton picked at her scarf. "There aren't any slavers in Riften, though."

"Exactly," J'Thaar nodded. "That's why we didn't recognize the gray-skin from last night. We know most of the people who are worth two shits in this town. If we couldn't put a name to that Dunmer's face, he must have come in from Morrowind."

"Any slaver from Morrowind is well-connected."

"Yes," J'Thaar sighed, "and he's got Jeeras-Tei in his pocket."

Maëlys pulled a face. "That scaly sack of shit? What's an Argonian mobster doing making deals with slavers?"

The Khajiit held his hand up and rubbed his thumb against his forefinger. "What else would it be? And now that we know he's in the picture, we need to watch where we tread. The lizard has many, many friends, and even though I'd _love _to personally cut him open from collar to cock, I can't afford to lose—"

He stopped, realizing what he was about to say. Maëlys raised an eyebrow.

"I can't afford to lose my head this time. It wouldn't benefit either of us, and I want my coin more than I want his head."

She looked around quickly. "We can't do much else here. Let's go."

The pair swiftly wound their way back to the entrance of the warehouse. Whatever they did, they needed to not be found hanging around if someone came back. The warehouse was too confined and with only one exit, was more dangerous than either of them would admit. At the door, Maëlys grimaced when she looked at the broken lock. Never had she regretted the decision to break a lock rather than see her lockpicking endeavor through to the end more than she did now.

J'Thaar caught the face she made and smirked. "Told you."

"Not the time, cat," she growled. Despite her annoyance at his haughty statement, she held back her anger and slowly opened the door. She peered through, opening it a bit at a time until she could stick her head out. She heaved a sigh when she realized no one was waiting in the immediate area and signaled to J'Thaar it was safe to leave.

They proceeded across the up the dock, trying their hardest to act as though they belonged there. Maëlys shuffled ahead with her eyes to the ground, a little too nervous to tempt fate by meeting the eyes of any of the workers they crossed paths with. J'Thaar, on the other hand, couldn't help but keep his eyes moving, watching for signs of recognition.

He nudged her lightly and she glanced sideways at him. He nodded at one of the workers when he had her attention and she shrugged. She had no idea what he was trying to tell her.

"That one," he said. "He's been looking at us."

She set her attention on the man, careful not to be too obvious about eyeing him. She continued to watch as the man worked away near one of the large cargo ships.

"He's not even looking at us," she said. "You're getting paranoid now."

"Is it any wonder?"

"Let's just keep moving," she suggested. "We'll head to your room, get something to eat and pack up some things. Then we can do the same at my room. I don't think we should stay there for a few days. At least until we can figure something out."

"Where exactly are we going to go?" He sounded frustrated.

She shrugged. "I don't know. We could head underground. The Guild members are always on about getting us down there for drinks."

"No," he said. "They're on about _you_ going down there for drinks. Did you _not_ just tell me it would be a bad idea for me to go down there? Fuck, you've got a short memory!"

She moved to push him off the dock, but reconsidered when she thought of the attention it would draw. Instead, she picked up the pace of her steps and he hurried to keep up with her. He never could figure out how someone with legs as short as hers could manage to outpace him all the time.

Most of the city was typically busy, and they weaved through the pedestrian movement easily. Before they knew it, the inn was in sight and J'Thaar breathed a sigh of relief. It was short-lived however…as he scanned the streets ahead of him, he noticed an Argonian leaning against the railing across from the inn's entrance.

His hand immediately shot out in front of Maëlys, causing her to run into his arm harshly. She expelled a breath before shooting him a glare.

"What the—?"

"Look," he said, his voice low. He motioned towards the Argonian. The lizard didn't look particularly menacing, until he caught sight of several daggers of varying sizes attached to his belt. And he certainly didn't appear to be looking to leave his position – this one must have been one of Jeeras-Tei's goons.

"Hey," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "Over there." She pointed to an alley near the inn; they could probably reach it with no trouble and remain out of sight from the Argonian.

He nodded and took the lead. They slowly crept ahead, relieved the lizard wasn't paying any attention to them. He reached the alley and spun around into it, waiting for her to come around the corner.

_Any second now, Lys…_

When she didn't turn the corner in the brief seconds that followed, he returned to the end of the alley and peeked his head out. What he saw gripped his stomach tightly. Two Argonians had followed them. One of them had Maëlys, an arm twisted hideously behind her; the other held a dagger to her throat. Their eyes met and, through her pain, silently pleaded with him to run.

Fleeing was the last thing on his mind. He saw the angle of her arm and the blood trickling down her neck from the small hole at the dagger's tip. He saw the pain and fear in her eyes. He feared for her, too, initially—until the fear was replaced by a wave of anger coursing through him from his heart of hearts.

"So _you're _the little sand-kitten who's got everybody's knickers in a twist," spoke the lizard twisting Maëlys' arm. "I have to say, I feel a little let down."

J'Thaar's fists shook, clenching hard enough to grind stone to dust. He folded his arms across his chest, sneaking the fingers on his right hand into his lapel.

"Is that so?" he replied, focusing all his energy on keeping a calm expression.

"It is, indeed," the Argonian said. "The great J'Thaar, the thorn in our side for almost a decade, with his balls in a little leather purse in this pretty little half-breed's pocket. It's written all over your face, try as you might to hide it. Who would have thought the Khajiit who's slain half the Bosmer trim for rent in this city with his little kitty prick would be brought to his knees by this skinny little runt?"

J'Thaar managed a smirk. "You seem jealous. What's the matter, friend? Tired of your women and their pointy teeth cutting into your balls?"

The lizard laughed, twisting Maëlys's arm further up her back. J'Thaar had to clear his throat to hide a growl when he heard her whimper and rise up onto her toes to alleviate the pain.

"Always the joker," the Argonian sighed. "Mind yourself, cat—neither of us would want for my associate here to cut this pretty girl's throat. Why, if that happened, I couldn't take her home to work out some of this 'jealousy' I have inside."

"I advise caution if you do," he said, lowering his eyes to meet Maëlys'. "This one is a real _ball-buster._"

The Breton took the hint. Her free hand snapped down to between the legs of the lizard with the knife at her throat and sent a surge of electricity into his groin. The Argonian couldn't even muster a cry of pain; he simply fell to the ground, convulsing wildly. A bloom of bright red began to form on the leg of his trousers.

J'Thaar's right hand whipped out of his lapel, his forefinger hooked into the pommel ring of a razor-sharp throwing knife. It was a risky throw, but his mind was made up before his hand came out of his jacket. He hurled his weapon at the lizard holding Maëlys' arm behind her back. The blade whistled as it whirled through the air, clipping off a lock of the Breton's hair before it found a new home in the side of the Argonian's neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, J'Thaar saw the lizard from the railing gripping a dagger in each hand and closing fast. He leaned back quickly, narrowly avoiding a vicious right-handed slash aimed for his face. Moving backward, he slapped at the Argonian's left wrist, deflecting a thrust at his midsection hard enough to cause his assailant's arm to swing wide. He grabbed at the lizard's left wrist and elbow, but before he could twist into the arm in his grasp, he was hammer-fisted on the top of his head with the hilt of the slimy bastard's other dagger. J'Thaar stumbled; his vision was blurred, and he felt a warm stream of blood running through his braids and down his snout.

The Argonian slashed again with his right-hand dagger. J'Thaar tried to control his backward movement, but the blade cut through his jacket and just into his shoulder. The flash of pain brought him back to his senses enough to duck under a spinning slice; he barreled forward into the Argonian's ribs, driving the wind from the man's lungs and knocking him nearly all the way back to the railing.

"This was a new fucking jacket, you piece of shit!" J'Thaar hissed. He grabbed another throwing knife out and flung it at the lizard, catching him in the chest just to the side of his shoulder. The Khajiit reveled in the lizard's howl of agony; he made for another blade, but the lizard rolled out of the way and the throwing knife went whizzing past him.

J'Thaar drew his daggers and pounced at the grounded lizard. The Argonian snarled and thrust his heel into the Khajiit's gut. It was a powerful blow; J'Thaar's eyes went wide with shock as he crumpled forward and fell to his knees. The Argonian stood up and grabbed the knife in his flesh, defying his pain with a snarl as he pulled it out slowly. He tossed the knife to the ground with a clatter of steel upon stone, stepping forward and sideways and delivering a hard kick to J'Thaar's side.

The Khajiit grunted as the lizard's boot lifted him from the street and fell back to the ground with a weak cough. He begged his lungs to take in air, but they refused to answer his pleas. As the shadow of the Argonian drew closer, his mind raced with thoughts of Maëlys. He hoped she could find it within herself to forgive him for his failure.

As if the Divines themselves had heard J'Thaar's thoughts, the lizard was knocked forward by a tiny whirlwind of fury. Maëlys grabbed the Khajiit's bloody throwing knife off the cobblestones and charged forward, driving the blade into the back of the Argonian's neck; the lizard was dead before he hit the ground. The Breton stood up and stomped furiously at the scaly corpse in front of her.

"NOBODY. TOUCHES. ME. LIKE. THAT!" she cried, each word emphasized by a vengeful kick.

Slowly and incredibly painfully, J'Thaar raised himself off the street with the shakiest of arms. He tried to stand, but his leg gave out and he collapsed onto his back. He looked up to the sky, thanking whichever Gods would listen that he could breathe again. Maëlys rushed over and sank to her knees beside him, taking his head in her hands and cradling it in her lap.

"You're hurt," she murmured, smoothing the bloody fur of his cheek with her thumb.

"Nothing a drink couldn't fix," he wheezed through a smile. His chuckle turned into a coughing fit, and he groaned at the pain in his ribs.

"Gods-damned Khajiit," Maëlys smiled, her hands trembling as they caressed his face.

"Getting sentimental on me, girl?" the Khajiit quipped through a grin.

Maëlys laughed and tweaked his ear. He could see her lip quivering.

"I'll let you get away with that this time, you furry bastard."


	3. Head Over Heels

A/N: Back again, are you? Well, the warning will be issued immediately. This was written by a heavily intoxicated couple of authors (namely, myself and johmatmarkun…duh!). Evidently a little too much rum and bad beer leads to poor literary decisions – as evidenced by this chapter. We'd apologize for quickly devolving into moar secks, but we regret nothing.

Yeah, anyhow…drunken debauchery ensued, and this was the result. Expect more of this, for we're planning to make Drunken Debauchery Story Writing Saturday a regular occurrence. We promise…we'll try to write a chapter soon without so much damn smut…but it's _fun_!

Since we've been sitting on this one for a while, editing and reworking it, we present it to you without further ado. Onwards!

* * *

><p><strong><em>Head Over Heels<em>**

J'Thaar never remembered there being this many stairs to his room. He had lost count several times already; not that it was the first thing on his mind. He had draped his arm over Maëlys` small frame, apologetically putting much of his weight upon her. She never once complained as she helped him up the stairs. He was light headed from the injuries he sustained to his head and could barely stabilize himself enough to stand upright. In the haze of their encounter earlier in the day, neither remembered to bring her pack of potions, but once they arrived at his room, he was sure she'd brewed something up that would help to clear his mind.

He was grateful that she had been able to help him up and into the inn quickly. They had been fortunate that the lone guard that had passed by as they were trying to sort out what happened merely looked upon them with an unimpressed gaze and continued on his way. J'Thaar could tell that she hurried from that point, unwilling to subject themselves to further scrutiny. The Nord who owned the inn saw his injuries when Maëlys helped him in. He asked if there was anything he could do for the pair.

Grimacing, J'Thaar responded. "Your discretion will be enough."

The innkeeper nodded knowingly. Their presence at the inn would be kept quiet. J'Thaar's coin would see to that.

Finally, the stairs ended their torturous hold over him and she continued to assist him silently towards his room. When they reached the door, he reached into his coat, attempted to find his room key. He again noticed the damage that the Argonians cause to the fine piece of clothing and muttered curses under his breath. Maëlys looked towards him, a sly smile upon her face - she'd evidently heard him. When his hand found the key, he pulled it out of the pocket and dangled it in front of her. As she shifted under his weight and put the key in the door, he turned towards her, his head falling to rest upon her shoulder.

"Come J'Thaar," she said as the key turned easily. "Let's get you to the bed so that I can find you something for your wounds."

"Bed sounds like a fine idea," he said. He was in a daze; he was still having trouble breathing, and the gash on his head was still oozing blood. All he wanted to do was lay down to rest his aching body. He did his best to stay strong, but the bruise in his side seemed to flare with every step he took.

He grimaced as Maëlys helped lower him to the bed. His body felt broken, but his heart swelled in his chest when he saw the Breton smiling down at him. He was happy to be alive, but he was even happier to see that she had made it out of the street unscathed.

He spoke softly, trying desperately to keep the pain in his side from overwhelming him. "Listen Lys, I-"

The Breton shushed him, placing a soft fingertip on his lips.

"Just relax. I have something that will have you feeling better in no time."

He closed his eyes and let his head fall to the mattress. He replayed the fight in his mind. He was surprised at how little fear he'd felt for himself-after all, life had many pleasures and he did not want to let them escape his grasp for many more years. What he thought would be his final thoughts were instead of Maëlys. He felt it best that she'd quieted him, for he did not wish to make a fool of himself by speaking of such things now.

_Surely the little bitch would rip me a new arsehole_, he laughed to himself. The Breton was definitely a firecracker.

She looked down upon him for a moment, resting her hand on his forehead, just as his eyes began to roll back. "Stay with me, J'Thaar. It's almost ready."

He didn't see her leave the side of the bed, but his next vision was of her moving a small vial of red liquid towards his face. He felt the cool glass upon his lips and when she tilted the vial back, the liquid poured into his mouth, thickly coating every part that it touched. It didn't take long for the effects of the mixture to begin to take hold. His vision began to clear...the ache at his temples began to subside. As he stared at the ceiling, the brewed potion began to spread through his whole body, allowing him to feel as though he'd at least survive the day. Still, the ache in his side persisted terribly, but he'd live. She came into his field of vision once more, looking down at him with an expression he'd almost never seen before. Though what he perceived to be worry soon dissipated as she spied the flowing blood from his head slowing. He felt her fingers wipe at the fur on his forehead gently. She was in rare form this day.

As she continued to observe his wounds, he couldn't help but notice the blood that still dripped from her neck, partially dried and already caking on her skin. With the strength that was slowly returning to him, he reached up, wiping away at the pooled blood. He thought back to the words of the Argonian. How dare he suggest that he'd use the Breton the way he said he would. _Exactly the reason for being dead right now..._

"How's that?" she asked quietly. "Is it helping?"

"More than you know," he murmured through a soft smile. He ran his thumb from the nick in her neck to the corner of her jaw. Her warm skin felt so good beneath his touch ...

"Good," she said quietly. She reached up and gently held the back of his hand, pressing it a little more firmly into her cheek. "Can't have you die on me just yet. We still need to get back at the fuckers who robbed us."

J'Thaar couldn't help but laugh. His expression changed from amusement to pain; apparently, laughing still hurt.

Maëlys placed her hand on his chest, gently stroking his fur to sooth him. "Where does it hurt the most?"

"In my ribs," J'Thaar winced.

She slowly leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on his left side. He felt a thrill run down his spine as her soft, moist lips met his fur.

The Breton developed a devious grin. "I'll bet you feel some of it in your belly, too," she whispered, planting another delicate, lingering kiss above his navel. Her eyes flickered upward to his as she fluidly lowered herself to her knees, kissing him again just above his hip.

"Where else?" she asked, her voice laced with need.

He shifted his hips, wincing slightly due to the associated pain.

"There, there," she whispered. "I'll make it all better." Her voice dripped with yearning.

He shuddered at her words, having never heard her speak to him that way. She'd never been so...straightforward with her desires before. At least, not with him. A strange sensation welled up within - it was not one he'd experienced before with his whores. They knew what to do...but some of them were a little too businesslike about the whole thing. With Maëlys...it was evidently not the same. Her voice rolled over him, filling him with..._something _that he couldn't place.

She untied his sash and pulled the lapels of his ruined jacket away from his body. She rubbed her cheek against him, closing her eyes and reveling in the softness of his light brown fur. Her hand found his knee and began a slow ascent toward the inside of his upper thigh. She hummed delightedly as her fingers closed around their intended target.

There was something different about touching J'Thaar. Normally she would only toy with the men she bedded for her own amusement, but it felt strangely good to see the way he responded to her touch. She heard a faint hint of a moan in his throat, and it pleased her to know she could have this effect on him. She knew that even without the whores he still had women hounding after him, and for some odd reason it made her heart flutter to see and feel the way he moved and breathed for her.

She took the dagger still tucked into his waistband and placed it gently on the floor next to her before working the fingers on both her hands into his waistband and tugging at his trousers. He lifted his hips as best he could; she didn't like causing him pain, but she fully intended to make up for it.

His breath hitched in his throat several times as he felt her fingertips dragging the trousers over his fur. When they sat near his ankles, about to fall off, she brushed her cheek up against his shin, moving her face for a moment towards his inner thigh. He took stock in just how close she encroached upon his twitching cock. She wasn't supposed to make him feel that way. For seven long years, he was her partner in crime...and for even longer he watched her grow from that awkward thirteen year old to...this. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He couldn't help but let his hand wander to the back of her head. When she felt it, she turned her lips towards his leg, and exhaled as she brought her mouth up along the length of it. By the time she reached his upper thigh, his head had already flung backwards in anticipation of where her lips were headed. Her fingertips lightly guided along his legs towards his hips. He squeezed his eyes shut...waiting...simply waiting for what was coming.

With his eyes closed and his head back, he couldn't see what she had planned, but he could hear her breathing. He could hear her voice...

"J'Thaar," she said with barely any breath behind the words. "I want you to watch..."

He was so hard he ached. Every movement of her fingers felt like a sweet caress from Dibella herself. He didn't even try to stifle a sigh as her lips met his shaft; she never took her eyes off him the whole time.

Her tongue was warm, wet silk against his flesh. Her eyes sparkled like the brightest stars as she wrapped her lips around his tip and ever-so-slowly lowered her mouth upon him. She coaxed him with her mouth, urging him to feel the pleasure she so desperately wanted to bestow upon the one who had cared for her for so long.

Others would surely have considered it obscene, but J'Thaar couldn't think of a more perfect sight. She truly was beautiful. He reached down to brush a lock of soft, brown hair behind her ear as she took him further into her. He shuddered as her hand ran up his thigh and over his hip. He couldn't stop looking at her, couldn't stop looking into her eyes, couldn't stop himself from showing just how much pleasure she was giving him as the heat of her mouth coursed through his raging flesh.

It was the first time he'd ever felt concern over the barbs that plagued the women he spent time with. But what was that feeling in the back of his mind? Why did he suddenly feel...protective of her?

_Gods...was this Mara's influence?_

He felt her fingers brush along his hips, sliding under his thighs and she adjusted herself to push deeper on to him. She'd never felt more exhilarated. She'd had her share of men since coming to Riften...perhaps not at the volume that he had, but nonetheless, being on him this way...it was better than she'd imagined. Even if she'd never admit it, she had imagined this. Repeatedly. Wondering if the Khajiit had ever felt anything like what she felt at that moment for him caused her to seize up. She continued to look at him, her dark brown eyes narrowing in his direction.

At the ceasing of her movements, J'Thaar looked down upon her once more, concern on his face. Any of his whores would have had their heads grabbed and set back to where they should be. But her hesitation was more worrisome for him than anything else. As their eyes met, he smiled, somehow giving her the motivation she needed to continue. Her lips settled back down around him and she picked up her pace, as her tongue pressed against his length.

"Stop," he breathed, reaching out to caress her ear. She looked up at him in confusion.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. "Am I not—"

J'Thaar smiled. "You're wonderful. Right now, I want you to lie down."

"But—"

"Maëlys Branoc,"he said sternly, "you will not argue with me." He sat up, clenching his jaw hard to better help him through the pain. He looked at her with a smile as she climbed onto the mattress and lay on her back.

He unbuckled her belt and lazily tossed it across the floor. She bit her lip as she looked down her body at him; it drove him wild with desire. He climbed off the bed and gingerly rested his knees on the floor, taking a brief moment to slip off his ruined jacket before sliding his fingers into her trousers and hurriedly yanking them down her legs. He grabbed onto the fabric, and without giving her any pause to kick off her boots he ducked his head underneath her trousers, surfacing between her legs. He gripped her legs firmly and pulled them toward his face.

"Eager boy," she whispered through a grin.

_Damned right_, he thought to himself. He'd only gotten a little taste of her earlier, and he wanted nothing more than to feast upon her flesh.

She gasped as she felt his tongue slowly run up the outside of her lips. She moaned and squirmed, thrusting her hips toward him as she felt the fur of his cheeks run up the insides of her thighs. She felt his tongue probing at her folds, and breathlessly reached for his braids with both hands as she felt its tip run up the length of her moistened slit.

She had only felt his tongue once before – when he kissed her earlier that day. But it was a _very_ different feeling now. It was much rougher than she remembered, sending sensations from her core to her extremities. She held her breath as he rolled it up into her, and his claws dragged up her legs. He aimed not to rip her skin as he slid a finger into her. Her hips jolted upwards towards his mouth and he bared his teeth, running them along her inner thigh. She shivered in his grip as he worked his finger in and out of her. She writhed in front of him, her hands gripping at the sheets...his braids...the head of the bedframe...whatever she could reach. When her small fingers made their way to the sides of his head, she buried them into his fur, guiding his mouth deeper into her. She gasped in response as he took long strokes with his tongue, flattening it against her. She felt every bump of him...every movement.

She`d never felt the way he was making her feel at that moment and made it known to him as a primal sound escaped from the pit of her stomach and ripped its way up her throat and out of her. He growled in response to the sound, and she felt the vibration of his rough warm breath upon her skin.

He suddenly withdrew his finger from her, causing her to whimper in response. He smirked at her immediate cry and placed his hands on her hips, gripping her tight. He sneaked his head out from between her legs, pulled her up and flipped her over so that she settled on to her hands and knees. He drove his tongue back towards her, licking her from the bend at her knee up to her backside. As he reached under her and into her tunic, his hand found her breast, and he plied at its softness, leaning forward to nip at her back. Her head snapped back to look at him, displaying a wide grin upon her face. Seeing her expression sent a shiver down his spine knowing how completely beguiled this was making her.

He settled his knees on the outsides of her thighs. Seeing her in this position caused something to stir within him, something … animal. He gorged himself on the sight of her arse being proudly presented to him as she lowered her face into the bed. He gripped at her hips and pressed against her, nestling his throbbing length between her warm, round cheeks. He bent his knees slightly, lowering himself just enough to tug off her boots one at a time. She wriggled her legs, letting him slide her trousers the rest of the way off. He hooked his thumbs into his own and pulled them further down his thighs, then pressed in close to her again, flattening his length against her cleft.

She closed her eyes and chewed the corner of her lip, drinking in every sensation as he slid back and forth against her. She couldn't just feel how wet she was for him; she could hear it as his flesh ran between her lips. She could feel his tiny barbs scraping softly against her. She longed to feel their sting as her lover entered her.

_My lover._ The words resonated inside her head, forcing a smile to cross her lips. _My J'Thaar._

His anticipation built; he felt a rush of excitement as the memory of pushing into her for the first time flooded his mind. Something about the familiarity of this moment made it all the more exciting. He took himself in hand and directed his head toward where it belonged. The thought of belonging inside her made his stomach tie up in glorious knots. The thought reminded him of … home.

He groaned as he pushed into her; her breath hissed through her teeth as his barbs made their way deeper inside her. His fur met her skin, and he paused to feel the moment to its fullest extent. Her dark eyes strained to garner a view of her lover from the sheets.

"Own me," she whined.

His claws raked lightly up her back as he pushed into her slowly at first, causing her to moan in time with his thrusts. The soft noises became hurried cries as he increased his rhythm, using long, smooth strokes into her. The pain that she had felt before remained, yet it was something she relished in. Still, compared to their encounter earlier that day - a fact that still caused Maëlys to smile inwardly - he was gentle...allowed her time to breathe. It was likely due to his injuries though - she suspected this tenderness would not last.

For that matter, she was willing for it to end. There was something carnal in the way he threw her around, demanding what he wanted. Despite her outward demeanor, she was more than willing to give him whatever he asked.

She suspected he knew. She hoped he did.

J'Thaar's hands roamed across her back under her tunic, watching her shift under him as he did so. He could see how she fidgeted as his fur and claws encountered her skin. He withdrew from her quickly and immediately bent forward to kiss the small of her back. She breathed contentedly as his mouth moved up her spine, letting his lips linger just upon her skin. His breath set her spine to tingle and as he moved further up her body, she could feel the tiny barbs upon his length, once again scratching along her rear and upper thighs. She shivered and arched into him as he continued to ghost warmth through the thin fabric across her shoulders.

He folded his hands over her shoulders and one of them gently encircled her throat. He felt along the length of her scar lightly before quickly flipping her over on to her back. She collapsed to the bed instantly and he pressed down upon her. One of her legs snaked around his waist, encountering his tail and causing him to groan as she ran her toes along it. She pulled herself up close to him, softly running her fingers across the cut at the side of his head. She smiled when she felt it, knowing that it had already begun to heal with the mixture she fed to him. He would be fine..._better_ than fine even.

Something in her expression gave his body cause to swell with renewed vigor. He thought back to when she had slapped him earlier as she was on her back, just as she was now. She did not strike him with her hand this time; she did not need to. She struck him with her eyes instead; eyes that glimmered with a raw, feral need to be shown how he could handle her, how he could control her, how he could fuck her like nobody else could.

She saw the look in his eyes change, saw their intent change from tenderness to domination. She licked her lips, feeling his hand creep over her breast, over her scar, over her cheek and finally into her hair. She cried out as he gripped her dark locks tight, pulling her face in closer. He kissed her hard; she held her breath as he pushed his forehead into hers.

"Say it again," he whispered.

"Own me," she moaned breathlessly in reply.

He tossed her head back and dragged his fingers all the way down her body to her thigh. He would own her. He would show her what she'd been missing all those years they spent together but apart. He would show her that no matter where she went, she belonged to him. He would fuck her until the little bitch begged him to finish, and then he would pump himself deep inside her and watch as she shivered and whimpered underneath him.

Mere minutes before, he had been in pain that threatened to rob him of his passion. Now he felt alive again, and he would show his little Breton just how much.

He slipped his arms underneath her knees and pushed them back toward her shoulders. He thrust into her deep and hard, slowly at first with long, powerful strokes. He saw her grit her teeth and grip the sheets like before; he decided he would see her like this often. He built on his thrusts, picking up speed until the headboard pounded against the wall and the girl beneath him shrieked. He reached up again and grabbed her under her jaw, pressing on her scarred throat. He almost laughed at the way her eyes widened and her mouth fell open; at the way her arms and legs seized up momentarily before they started their telltale twitching and trembling.

Her entire body began to shake; tremors erupting from within. The pain, and the utterly despicable way she reveled in it…_needed_ it to _feel_ something…to feel as though she were alive and not just going through the motions – all of it served to set her skin to fire. Without even trying, she could feel magic crackling at her fingertips. J'Thaar noticed it too and looked back into her eyes.

"No you don't, Breton," he warned. His hand swiftly gathered up both of her wrists, twisting one on top of the other as he brought all of his weight down upon them, holding them in place.

She bit the inside of her mouth and he stared hard at the expression on her face. Feigned innocence? Perhaps, but he knew better. No, it was more some strange mixture of naivety, lust and…completion. She was meant to belong to him. And she was finally beginning to feel that it was right.

He pushed down harder on to her, crushing her legs backwards so her knees all but rested with her shoulders. She winced; there were too many sensations to experience and J'Thaar could see it in her eyes that she had no idea which to latch on to. He decided to give her focus and brought his mouth to the junction where her neck met her shoulder. He sniffed deeply, inhaling the scent of her; it drove him mad and prompted him to snarl loudly into her skin. He eased the fabric of her tunic aside, exposing her soft skin to him. Rather than placing delicate kisses along her neckline, his lips curled back to reveal sharp teeth that he promptly planted into her shoulder. As they punctured her skin, her body seized and she let loose a blood curdling scream that was music to his ears. He let go of her wrists, driving his hand into her hair and pulling her head back. He felt one of her hands feebly tugging on his braids; the other seized his ear and she yanked it hard. Jerking the handful of hair back sharply caused her to release hold on his ear and he lifted his head to look at her. Their eyes met – only for a moment – but she spoke to him in that moment with no words. _This_ was where she wanted to be.

The red trickles on her shoulder caught his attention; he slowed his hips and swooped in, dragging his tongue along her skin, relishing the taste of her sweat and her blood. He kissed her collarbone, her neck and finally her lips, sucking her tongue hard into his mouth and massaging it with his own. She moaned almost sweetly into him as he nibbled on her lips and brushed his nose against hers. It made him think of … prey.

"Take it off," he whispered, gesturing at her body with his chin. She crossed her arms at her waist and wriggled on the mattress, freeing herself from the confines of her tunic. She threw it across the room, and he could see every beautiful inch of her.

He sat back on his knees and pulled her in close by her thighs. He wanted to see all of her. He wanted to see the way her head tossed from side to side, the way her hands couldn't decide where they needed to be, the way her breasts jiggled and bounced … he wanted to see her scars, her face, her eyes … he wanted to make her beg, and he wanted to watch. He settled into a rhythm of slowly rocking his hips back and slamming forth into her, yanking her back to him by her thighs on every thrust.

She looked up at him, her eyes drooping as he continued to move with her.

"I will have you whenever I want," he told her. "Where I want. You are _mine_, Maëlys. Do you hear me?"

She nodded as her eyes rolled back, but before they did, she saw in his eyes that he wasn't being entirely truthful. That it _wouldn't_ always be where and when he wanted, because the hold she had over him was just as strong as that of his over her.

How did so much time pass without this surfacing? Or did it, and neither were in the right place to accept it? There were _so_ many questions that needed to be answered. But now was not the time for it. Now she was to simply enjoy the pleasure and pain that this Khajiit…_her_ J'Thaar…was bringing to her. She returned her focus to him, savouring every deliberate stroke…every well timed movement.

Her hands travelled aimlessly above her head, reaching for something to stabilize her jerking body and her swirling emotions. She delved her fingers into her hair, dragging the other hand down her face. Her smallest fingers caught in the corner of her mouth and latched on to her teeth as she closed her eyes and threw her head back once more. Her body arched towards him and he lost any sense of control he yet had.

He stared at her again, her motions so subtly effective at spurring him to further action. She writhed in her ecstasy below him. He wanted to touch her everywhere…all at once…and he just couldn't decide where to begin.

A low growl escaped his lips. "What do you want, Maëlys? Tell me what you want me to do to you. _Beg_ me for it…"

Her lips turned up at the corners, but just barely. Her voice came out in a whisper. "Fuck me like one of your whores."

He shook his head quickly. "No. You aren't anything like them."

"Then make me yours," she replied. "Leave your mark. Don't let anyone else even think I don't belong to you…"

Her words made his pulse pound in his ears. He felt every inch of her body coaxing him, urging him forward, pleading with him to not just use her, but to show her how much he wanted her for himself. He felt her squeezing him as he swelled inside her. His heart felt fit to burst from his chest as he watched her squirm. The wet sounds of her desire drove him further into madness every time fur pulled away from skin.

She could feel him getting closer as his pace quickened. She could see it in his face, hear it in his grunts as his thighs hammered against her. She reached forward and latched onto his wrists.

"Leave your mark, Khajiit," she whined; she needed to feel him release inside her just as badly as he did.

His breath caught in his chest; his strokes slowed in speed but grew in intensity as he neared the edge. He took one final step, made one final thrust—and with a long groan from deep in his belly, he took the plunge. He bared his teeth as he throbbed inside her, peering deep into her rich, dark eyes. She felt his warmth flooding her; a shiver ran from the top of her spine all the way down her body to the tips of her toes.

He stayed where he was for a moment, trying desperately to catch his breath. Her fingernails trailed light paths up and down his forearms. He reluctantly withdrew from the warm embrace between her thighs and moved past her leg, lowering himself onto the mattress. He could only smile as she wriggled her way toward him and threw her arm over his stomach, holding him tightly, pulling herself in as close as she could.

The pain in his ribs was all but gone. He slid off his shoes, letting them fall to the sheets without concern, then slipped his toes underneath the blanket at the foot of the bed and pulled it up. He grasped it with his fingers and pulled it over himself and the girl nuzzling the fur of his chest with her flushed cheek.

* * *

><p>"Maybe we could go to Solitude?"<p>

J'Thaar looked up from packing his things, wondering why exactly the Breton was suggesting such a distance.

"What are you on about?"

"Open your ears, cat," she growled. "I _said_ we should go to Solitude."

He snorted and reached for his mead. "Why would we go all the way out to Solitude? First you suggest that we slum with the Guild in the sewers and now you want to take us to the opposite end of Skyrim. Do you think I am in need of some new whores from exotic locales?" He scratched at his chin. "You know, now that you mention it…"

"Shut it," she warned, glaring at him. "Think about it. It's been ages since the two of us went back to basics. When was the last time you stuck your hand into someone's pockets and pulled out gold?"

A wicked smile spread across his face and he was about to answer her, but she put her hand up in protest.

"Wait. Don't answer that. I don't want to be launched into another of your tales of appreciation of the fairer sex," she sighed.

"I admit," he said. "It _has_ been awhile since we worked the streets like that."

Her eyes opened wide. "Wouldn't it be fun? Just think of it…the two of us in…it doesn't even _have_ to be Solitude, but somewhere just as rich? It would be the perfect diversion while we try to figure out how we're going to take care of this…situation." He saw her eyes sparkling from excitement; she ran her teeth along her lower lip before her face settled into a mischievous grin.

It almost reminded him of how she had looked when he first met her. How she had changed since then…

J'Thaar had been lounging outside of Riften's city walls, watching the stables for unsuspecting travellers. It was easy to slip a coin purse off of someone when you were helping them down from a horse. He was always more than a little surprised when travellers were so trusting…especially of a Khajiit. It was fortunate though. At seventeen years, he was getting close to the age where the guards stopped looking the other way and started throwing criminals into cells at Mistveil Keep. He'd been lucky so far.

The large wagon that regularly stopped at the stables, dropping off travellers between holds, was later than it normally was. Still, that usually meant it was worth waiting for. Slow wagons meant heavy loads – and heavy loads meant there was more weight on the cart. There would either be a greater number of travellers to steal from, or their heavy loads were simply worth stealing.

He continued to lean up against the trunk of the large fruiting tree he normally sat under when he pulled this sort of scheme. He watched the wagon approach from down the path from the west. He counted – three…four…five people…no, _six_. There was a young girl that he barely even noticed until she leaned forward from where she kneeled on the wagon's uncomfortable benches. Her dark straggly hair dangled over the edge, until an arm came out of nowhere and pulled her back into the cart by her shoulder.

J'Thaar continued to observe the passengers, paying close attention to an older man – likely Nord – in fine travelling clothes. As the driver brought the wagon to a full stop near the stables, he got to his feet, preparing to make his move on the older Nord. He took several cautious steps towards the cart before he froze suddenly, catching a figure in his periphery. He turned to his left and saw the girl from the wagon…staring at him.

"What are you looking at?" he grumbled.

She turned her eyes from him for a moment, but almost immediately returned to staring at him. He noticed deep purple bruising peeking out from underneath the green scarf she wore tightly wrapped around her neck.

"Haven't seen a cat before?"

She shook her head. "Not like you…not one that…talks."

He crossed his arms in front of him and cocked his head to the side. "You've _never_ seen a Khajiit?"

"A…Kha—what?" she asked, stumbling over the word.

"A Khajiit," he said, clearly annoyed. "What? Did you _just_ gain back your eyesight or something?"

She shook her head again. "Nope."

"What's wrong with your—?" he began, letting his motioning to her neck finish the statement.

The girl looked away quickly. "N-nothing."

Her eyes darted towards his tail. He raised an eyebrow as she stepped towards him, reaching her hand out towards it.

"Just what are you trying to do there?" he growled.

She stopped at the sound of his voice, snatching back her hand and mumbling an apology.

"Hey!" a voice called out from the direction of the cart. "Come on, Maëlys! We need to go!"

She turned towards the young man who called for her. J'Thaar eyed him carefully, noticing the resemblance between the two. It was obvious they were related…he _had_ to be an older brother. He was certainly not old enough to be her father.

"Coming Loïc!" She turned back to face J'Thaar, and raised her hand up to wave weakly at him. "Bye cat…"

He watched her walk away and they headed into the city. He cursed himself for missing his opportunity to snatch something from the Nord he had spied earlier. But there would be another chance. There always was.

In the days that followed, he'd encountered the girl several other times. She would wander around the city, looking completely lost and a little frightened of all the people that towered over her. She couldn't have been more than fifteen, and in fact, the Khajiit thought her even younger than that.

On one particularly cold day, he saw her in the marketplace, shivering and begging a merchant to give her a piece of fruit from the stand. The woman who ran it looked at her indifferently.

"Go back to the sewers, vermin," she growled at the girl.

She turned away from the woman's stand, her bottom lip trembling and tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. Though J'Thaar was impressed that she had the strength to hold them back. He made his way through the market stalls towards the Nord's stand. When she wasn't paying much attention to him, he crashed into the wooden structure, sending pieces of fruit and vegetables from their well-placed piles.

"Oh!" he cried. "I'm so very sorry. I'm clumsy today. Here, let me help you clean this up." He knelt down and began to gather the fruit and vegetables in piles to pass to the merchant. A few well-timed slips of the hand and he had managed to snatch up three apples, two tomatoes and a handful of leeks.

"Thank you, cat," she said. "People just seem to want to take from me. It's nice to know that even a Khajiit will help when needed."

"Oh, of _course_," he purred. "Enjoy your day, my good lady."

She smiled at him as he turned around, heading off with a pack full of the stolen produce.

When he caught sight of the young girl again, she was standing on the bridge with her back to him, looking over the railing into the water. He slid up next to her.

"Hi." _Incredibly rousing introduction, J'Thaar…_

"Oh," she said as she looked over at him, only merely surprised at his intrusion. "Hello cat."

"It's J'Thaar," he corrected.

She frowned at him. "Are all your cat words this difficult to say?"

"Are you always this bratty?"

She turned away from him and remained silent.

"You look hungry," he said.

When she turned back to him, her face showed confusion. "How does anyone look hungry?"

"What? Besides the fact that the bones in your elbows look like they could be fashioned into some handy daggers?" He pulled the pack off of his back and opened it up, tossing it on the ground in front of him. "Go ahead."

She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "Really? I mean, I can—" She stopped speaking and dropped to her knees, hands immediately delving into the bag. Her face lit up when her hand landed on the smooth flesh of a large red apple and she pulled it out of the bag. She looked back up at him, her eyes wide. "Are you sure?"

"Hurry up before I change my mind," he growled.

She smiled at the piece of fruit in her hand, wiping away pieces of dirt that clung to it. He fully expected to see her tear into it…rip chunks of it in desperate hunger, but she shocked him by pulling out a small dagger and carefully carving out a quarter of the apple.

"Where'd you get that dagger, girl?" he asked.

She glared up at him. "Don't call me girl."

"Well, you haven't exactly told me what I _can_ call you." It wasn't a lie…even though he heard her name used the first day he saw her.

"Oh," she said quietly. "I'm…Maëlys. Sorry for…" Her voice trailed off as she took the piece of cut apple and nibbled a piece off of it.

"Where are you from, Maëlys?"

"High Rock."

"That's pretty far to travel…to come _here_," he said. _Who in their right mind would want to come to Riften?_ She shrugged at him. "Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

"Oh. How old are you?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions." He thought she was annoyed, but she answered him anyway. "Thirteen."

_I knew it,_ he thought. "Was that your brother the other day? At the stables?"

She nodded. "We both almost died. Our wagon was attacked…Forsworn bandits was what my father said they were. You know…before they…" Her voice trailed off and she sighed. "But we made it."

J'Thaar bent over to retrieve his pack and held it in front of him. "Why don't you take some more of this stuff?" he suggested. "Just leave a bit for me, and you can have the rest."

"Really?" She grinned widely at him. "Thank you!" She promptly dug through the bag, taking another apple, one of the tomatoes and a few of the leeks.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll see you around, Maëlys."

She waved at him and he left her standing there alone.

Their subsequent encounters had been similar…they learned more about each other through short bursts of questions and conversation. He had no idea why he even cared about his dealings with the girl – perhaps because she had no preconceived notions about the Khajiit. She'd never met one…never even _seen_ one. Maybe it was because she talkedto him…not at him. But as the days turned into months…and the months into years, those questions and conversations became inseparable camaraderie.

Much to her brother Loïc's dismay, J'Thaar taught her how to thieve…though it wasn't much of a challenge for him. She picked up on it faster than he ever could have dreamed, and soon it became a game to see who could steal more goods…pick more pockets…make more money. He let her win sometimes…at least until he realized that it wasn't the fact that he let her that allowed her to win.

The more time they spent together, the more he saw her change. She grew from a frightened refugee into a vengeful force to be reckoned with – and he liked it. Maëlys was his enforcer…not that he required one. Still, it was good to not be alone in this city. Riften was a place full of brutality and mistrust – to have someone that had your back was the best feeling in the world.

But nothing came for free in Riften, and for Maëlys, the price she paid was the loss of the only family she had left. Loïc had enough of what she had become in the four years since they had come to the city. He had attempted to start a life for them by becoming a merchant; and she had chosen the very path that contradicted what he did. When she refused to change her ways, he packed up his life and abandoned her to her fate.

It was the only time J'Thaar had ever seen her weep. Never before…and never since.

Loïc's departure saw her anger increase exponentially. Those who crossed them in the weeks following his disappearance saw her wrath. Mercy was never given; only death. It took J'Thaar's intervention to prevent her from killing off some of the allies that they needed to keep on more than one occasion.

And it was then that he realized he was the only family she'd ever have, ever again.

He shook himself back into the present day. "Sure Lys…getting out of the city sounds good."


	4. With Friends Like These

A/N: There is _no_ excuse for this chapter. I'd blame this on both johmatmarkun and I being sick…but I can't – most of it was written before we both fell ill (at least physically anyway…the mental bits are still under scrutiny). So this is pure crack. If the other stuff was lemon, this is lemon meringue pie. Bear witness to the absolute insanity and depravity that is the pairing of Maëlys and J'Thaar.

In this episode, our fearless anti-heroes begin their journey to Solitude and meet a new friend. Maëlys + spiced wine + moon sugar = bad news bears. Much sharing and raunchiness ensue. _Much..._

Don't say we didn't warn you. And we're for serious this time (in case you thought we weren't before).

Also, we both solemnly promise to get to the plot next chapter. Honest! (Just pretend like you can't see the crossed fingers behind our backs and all will be well…)

* * *

><p><em><strong>With Friends Like These…<strong>_

"I hate this fucking wagon."

Maëlys looked at J'Thaar, sensing his discomfort. He rarely travelled outside of Riften, so merely a few hours into journey, he was already complaining. She smiled at him slyly as she noticed a few of the wagon's inhabitants shifting uncomfortably at the front of the cart. A young boy and his parents watched the pair suspiciously, not sure what to make of them. For good reason too…neither of them looked to be trustworthy. The parents were smart to cover their child's ears and to attempt to ignore them.

Yet, however hard they tried, Maëlys and J'Thaar were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

"You know how long this journey is going to be, Khajiit," she advised. "But just think of all the fun we're going to have when we reach Solitude."

He grinned at her. "Oh yes," he replied. "My chance at some Altmer whores."

"Keep your eyes on the fucking prize, you horny bastard," she warned. "And we still have a lot of work to do, so it won't be _all_ fun. You _do_ still have your contacts there, right?"

"Of course," he growled. "Kind of fool do you take me for?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You _really_ want me to answer that?"

He shook his head and leaned back against the hard wood of the wagon. Maëlys watched him reach into his jacket, staring wide-eyed at his hand and the small metal bottle it held.

"Are you _mad?" _she hissed through clenched teeth. "We're in a fucking _coach_!"

He smirked. "Don't worry your pretty little head. I have enough to share."

She tried in vain to swat away the vial. He simply palmed her face and shoved her back into her seat while he unscrewed the cap with his free hand, lifted the vessel to his open mouth and tapped a small amount of moon sugar onto his outstretched tongue.

Maëlys grabbed his wrist and jerked it down. "Gods-damned Khajiit!" she snarled. "Have you been communing with Sheogorath? Has he stripped you of whatever tiny bit of sanity you had to begin with?"

J'Thaar's brow furrowed. "Calm yourself, woman," he replied as he twisted the cap back onto his little vial. "You act as though none of these fine people around us have ever seen such things before."

"Be that as it _may_," she continued, "I just…don't think this is the time."

She glanced up at the front of the cart to where the driver sat. Luckily he wasn't quite paying attention to the commotion in the back of the cart, but the man at the front of the cart, sitting with his family, unfortunately was. Maëlys was about to shrug at him, almost tempted to apologize for J'Thaar's behavior, but then realized it didn't matter and she didn't care. Her eyebrows lowered as she squinted at him.

"What the _fuck_ are you looking at?" she growled.

He looked away from her, attempting to ignore the goings on at the back of the cart.

"Don't you look away from me," she warned him, completely contradicting her first statement.

J'Thaar merely shook his head. _So it's to be insanity then, is it?_

As she glanced around, she noticed the two other passengers for the first time – one near the family at the front, the other across the cart from them. They both stared in their direction. The one across from them – a young Nord, likely around their age by the looks of it – hadn't taken his eyes off of J'Thaar since he pulled out the vial.

She looked at the Khajiit. "I think someone _else_ has a sweet tooth," she hissed at him. She crossed her arms angrily. She was _not_ going to devolve into jealousy over his ability to just let go and enjoy himself no matter where he was. She was _not_.

He met the young Nord's gaze, smiling deviously as he held up the vial. "Only five septims and you can have a taste, friend."

"Sold!" the man replied with a grin. He took a moment to gather a few coins from his pocket and stretched his arm across the aisle to the Khajiit.

J'Thaar swapped his vial for coin, chuckling to himself as he stuffed his earnings into his own pocket. He watched intently as the Nord sprinkled a tiny amount of sugar into his palm and licked it up before returning the Khajiit's metal bottle.

J'Thaar looked to his little Breton; she had her face buried in her hands and was shaking her head. He looked to the family at the front of the carriage; the father had his head down, but the mother had her eyes focused on the Khajiit. She looked angry.

"What in Oblivion is the matter with you, you vile creature?" she spat, holding her child's head to her bosom. "What kind of example are you trying to set for the children?"

He snorted. "I really couldn't give a fuck about your child, lady. Not my problem."

The woman gasped and held her son's head tighter to her chest, clamping her hand down upon the child's ear.

"Worry less about my influence on your child and more about the fact that your sagging tits are preventing him from breathing," J'Thaar chortled.

The sugar-toothed Nord howled with laughter.

The woman straightened up, clearly offended by the Khajiit`s words. Maëlys picked up her head and glanced over at her. The woman met her eyes and set forth a glare that would have chilled the spine of the strongest warrior.

"You should keep your cat in check," the woman muttered under her breath. Her husband immediately put his hand on her arm, issuing a subtle warning. Unfortunately, his warning was too little, too late.

Something in Maëlys snapped and before even she knew it, her dagger was out and she was advancing upon the woman in a fury of motion.

"Listen here, you snaggle-toothed bitch!" she hissed.

She'd have continued had she not felt a hand upon her thigh, causing her to nearly stumble. She looked down and realized it belonged to J'Thaar.

"Cat…you'll remove your fucking claws from me if you know what's good for you," she growled.

He chuckled and grabbed at her hand, pulling her back. "Sit down, you crazy bitch!"

She glared at him, but complied. When she sat down, she found herself angrily staring at him. Or was it…something else causing her to stare rather than anger? He looked over at her, a glimmer in his eye.

_Must be the fucking moon sugar…_

"You expect me to just let that cow talk to me like that?"

"Now, Maëlys," he replied, trying to fight his grin, "you can't just go slicing and dicing your way through every loudmouth in Skyrim. Besides, just look at her ugly mug—if she needs to flap her gums to feel better about herself, then let her. It's no fur off _my _balls."

The mother glowered angrily at him.

"A filthy creature with an even filthier mouth. Color me surprised."

He bared his teeth and hissed. The woman's expression immediately changed from angry to terrified, and she shifted her plump body up against her husband as she desperately tried to get as far away from the Khajiit as she could. He laughed, and his new Nord friend across the aisle joined in.

"Never thought I'd ever see a cow wriggle like a worm," J'Thaar chuckled.

The woman tried to say something, but her husband clamped his hand over her mouth. He did not speak; he instead gave something of an anxious smile, as if silently pleading the Khajiit to abandon further interaction.

Satisfied the bitch had finally been muzzled, J'Thaar turned his attention to his fiery pint-sized companion. He decided her hair looked particularly pretty in that moment, and he lifted his hand to her cheek to twirl a lock around his finger.

Maëlys scowled. "You getting sweet on me, Khajiit, or is it the damned sugar making your head go funny?"

He grinned in response. "The surrounding landscape is so very boring. The scenery inside the wagon, however, is well worth my attention."

She rolled her eyes, but the hint of color rising in her cheeks told him the action was forced. He took her chin in his fingers and gently turned her face toward him, lightly brushing his nose across her forehead. A ghost of a smile flashed across her lips; she took his hand and moved it back over her head, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and shifting her body against his to place her cheek to his chest. He stroked her ear with his thumb; she in turn rested her hand in his lap.

"'Tis a glorious thing, to see such love between such very different people," the Nord said from across the cart. "Is this pretty lady your wife?"

Maëlys nuzzled the Khajiit's chest. "He wishes," she mumbled.

"Eh?" spoke the Nord. "I didn't catch that."

"Don't mind her," J'Thaar said. "Traveling seems to make her a bit cranky."

He bit his tongue to stifle a laugh at the feeling of the Breton's fingernails trying to dig through the cloth of his trousers.

"I have just the thing for that," chortled the Nord. He reached under his seat and produced a sizeable knapsack. He unbuckled the straps and rummaged through the contents for a moment before pulling out a large, green bottle. "Join me in a drink, fellow travelers. Spiced wine for myself and my new friends."

J'Thaar felt her shift under his arm, lifting her head a little at the sight of the bottle. He couldn't see it, but if he knew Maëlys at all, her eyes were wide and she may have even been drooling a little. Spiced wine to her was what moon sugar was to him. She couldn't live without it, and if he recalled correctly, it had been some time since she'd tasted it. This might just prove to be an interesting day after all – as if it hadn't been already.

The Nord uncorked the bottle and took a swig before holding it out in front of him. "I trust you don't mind sharing."

The Khajiit eyed the Nord for a moment, watching as his eyes trailed down to where Maëlys was leaning as she stared glassy eyed at the bottle.

"No, my friend," he replied. "What's mine is yours and all that." He reached for the bottle, slugging back on it. He dangled it in front of her and when she reached for it, he refused to let go. "Now, now Lys…what do we say?"

She looked up at him and smiled sweetly. "Give me the fucking bottle." He handed it to her and she immediately sipped from it.

"Feisty," the Nord said with a chuckle. "I didn't catch your names."

"J'Thaar," the Khajiit replied, nodding his head at the man. "And this lovely little Breton sucking off the bottle like she owns it is Maëlys." She narrowed her eyes at J'Thaar, but quickly looked over to the Nord to acknowledge him. He extended his arm in her direction. She looked at it and raised an eyebrow; if she hadn't moved her hand from the cat's lap by that point, she had no intentions of doing so, and she was still quite happily nursing wine from the bottle. "Yes, good luck getting your bottle back."

"Fine by me," he replied. "I'm rather enjoying the looks of what she's doing anyway." Maëlys huffed loudly and removed the bottle away from her mouth.

"Filthy sugar-licking bastards," she growled and handed the bottle back to the Nord.

"Name's Njall," he replied, taking it back from her. "Njall Flemmen. Good to meet some travelers who aren't afraid to let loose a little." His eyes trained upon the family at the front of the wagon who were no longer looking anywhere but where the horses were headed.

"And you, Njall," J'Thaar replied. "I've not seen you in Riften before. Where are you coming from?"

He sighed. "I had been working at the Northwind Mines near Shor's Stone when a dragon attacked from near the peak of the mountain there. The mine's…_management_…fled like dogs, leaving us workers to fend for ourselves. One of the miners had some family or something – I don't really know – but they apparently owned a mine just east of Riften. So the lot of us headed there. We worked for weeks digging for gold, but it was all for nothing. There wasn't a single bit of gold to be found. Waste of time." He took another gulp from the bottle and handed it back across the wagon to J'Thaar. As he sipped from it, the Nord continued. "So I headed back to Riften to catch a wagon to Solitude. Got family there…some cousins. Maybe there's more work to be had up that way."

"Work is…hard to come by these days," he replied. He looked down at Maëlys who was eyeing the bottle again. Stroking her hair, he held the mouth of it just out of her reach. "More spiced wine, my pet?"

She looked up to him again. "Oh yes," she said eagerly. "I would really like to just suck the rest of it right up." She glanced over at the Nord who gulped hard at the innuendo, causing her to smirk. J'Thaar shoved the bottle into her mouth and she coughed, swatting at him.

"You fucker," she yelped, but not before taking a large gulp of wine. "And you…careful where your eyes linger." She glared over at the Nord again, dancing a fine line between sanity and madness.

Ignoring her, J'Thaar caught Njall's attention again. "You know, in our line of work, we sometimes look to hire outside help. Perhaps we should speak on this once this journey's ended."

Njall nodded. "That sounds like a very good idea, Khajiit." He looked back down at Maëlys. "So, you said you weren't married?"

She snorted. "You'd have to be an idiot to marry this furball. He'd spend your savings on mead and Wood Elf cunny faster than you could bat an eyelash."

J'Thaar sighed. "And this impudent little manmer would tear you a new arsehole if you even dared mention a night out with friends."

The hand on his thigh suddenly grabbed his crotch and began to squeeze, making his eyes bulge.

"As if you had any friends, flea-bait," Maëlys growled.

In an instant, the hand stroking her hair was twisting her ear. She whined in pain as J'Thaar tugged at her flesh, pulling her head away from his chest and causing her grip on his loins to slacken.

"You two are too funny," Njall chuckled, swiping the bottle from Maëlys' grasp.

The Breton whined again at the loss of her beloved spiced wine. Her eyes met the Nord's as he lifted the vessel to take a long pull; the look he was giving her suggested he had far more than drink and conversation on his mind.

_He does have a rather nice smile …_

She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek back to J'Thaar's chest. It was just the wine talking, she convinced herself—_tried_ to convince herself, at any rate.

"Trying to worm your way back into my good graces, eh?" the Khajiit chided, reaching out to take the wine from Njall's outstretched hand.

She ignored him, choosing instead to settle her hand upon his thigh once more. He smiled inwardly; the look his little Breton had just shared with the Nord hadn't gone unnoticed. _Maybe she's finally developing a sense of fun …_

"Gimme," she murmured, plying at the bottle with her little fingers.

She closed her eyes and put the mouth of the bottle to her lips … then took in a bit of the neck. She turned the bottle upward slowly, tilting her head back just enough for Njall to see the way her throat ripple as she swallowed a large gulp … then another … then another. She lowered the bottle and pulled it out of her mouth slowly; a thin trickle of wine spilled down the corner of her mouth, running over the side of her chin and down her neck into her scarf. She opened her eyes, looking straight at Njall with mock timidity as she ran the tip of her tongue around the rim of the bottle's mouth.

"Oops," she pouted, slowly wiping away the spill with her fingertip. "Sometimes I get a little clumsy when my mouth is full …"

Njall shifted slightly in his seat. Maëlys caught the slightest glimpse of a stirring in his trousers. Her eyes went wide; the bulge seemed to keep going further and further along the inside of the Nord's trouser leg.

"Naughty girl," J'Thaar whispered, pressing his nose into his little Breton's hair. "I wonder what would happen if you topped off your drink with a little sugar."

Maëlys trailed her hand further up the Khajiit's thigh. Her hold on him was much more sensual this time around. "Please?" she replied sweetly, nuzzling him with her cheek.

His eyebrow rose at how quickly and positively she reacted, but it didn't slow him from reaching into his pocket for the vial of moon sugar. He glanced at the Nord and watched as he licked his lips over the visuals. He sprinkled the sugar on his fingertip and held it out towards her open mouth. She licked the finger and then sucked it fully into her mouth; first casting her eyes towards the Nord, then up to J'Thaar. Both appeared to be under her spell – watching very carefully her every move.

When she let his finger slip out of her mouth, he replaced the lid on the vial and snuck it back into his pocket. He looked down to her, brushing strands of hair back that had fallen on to her face.

"Twice in one week, Lys," he said. "I'm impressed."

She scrunched her face up in mock disgust and growled at him. "Where is my bottle of spiced wine?"

"The one in your hand?" J'Thaar quipped.

She lifted the bottle up in front of her face. "Yes," she said with a smile. "This one. The one that Njall over there seems to wish to see me shove somewhere besides my mouth."

The Nord shifted again in his seat, clearly interested in the sugar's effect on the woman. He looked up at J'Thaar. "How much of that did you give her?"

J'Thaar shrugged. "She's a lightweight. I barely have to give her a taste and well…here you have it." He motioned to Maëlys who had squirmed further into his lap so her head was now resting upon it.

"Njall," she murmured. "Why don't you come and sit over here on this side of the wagon? It's getting chilly over here." She looked up at J'Thaar. "I like Njall already. I think we should hire him. He's…_big_."

The Nord looked to J'Thaar, who merely shrugged once more, sliding towards the back of the wagon to make room for the man. He dragged Maëlys along with him, who giggled as she slid down the bench.

"You lovely little minx," he purred into her ear. "Putting on a show for our new friend…"

She smiled up at him – he could tell how quickly the sugar had taken its hold on her from the faraway look in her eye. Not to mention the amount of spiced wine she had imbibed in such a short amount of time. She reached up and caught hold of his ear, scratching at it until she felt the wagon shift as Njall sat on the bench beside her.

She shifted, looking back over her shoulder at him. "Oh, hello there Njall."

"Maëlys," he replied, nodding. "So, I'm here. Did you…_need_ me for something?"

She stretched out her legs across his lap, brushing her feet across his thighs with purpose. She'd already kicked off her boots somewhere between her first sip of wine and burying her face into J'Thaar's chest.

"Is it any wonder you're cold?" he asked. "You've no boots on."

J'Thaar watched as the Nord boldly let his hand wander up her calf, past her knee to land on her inner thigh. He _liked_ the man – he had spirit. He enjoyed a little sugar…some wine and obviously wanted to fuck Maëlys. What more could the Khajiit ask for in a friend?

The Breton kept her eyes trained on Njall's hand, biting her lip as she gripped at the fabric of J'Thaar's tunic. The feeling of the Nord's finger brushing against her lip through her trousers made her flex her toes. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the man grinning; her chest heaved as his fingers moved further up her leg and hooked into her waistband.

J'Thaar shifted slightly on the bench, trying to find a way to relieve the pressure on the throbbing flesh inside his own trousers. He thought about what Maëlys might look like on all fours, moaning and writhing as she took another man inside her. The thought was enough to make him take hold of the Breton's wrist and guide her hand down his belly to his bulge; he felt her fingers teasing his loins once again. He thought he heard her giggle…

She exerted delicious pressure upon him through his trousers; so much so that he was tempted to simply rip through them right there in the wagon. He saw her squirm as the hand Njall had been working into her waistband slipped inside of the front of her trousers. He immediately noticed two things: one, the way Maëlys maneuvered to help the Nord slide his hand down further between her legs; and two, the expression on the man's face when he realized there were no further barriers of clothing between his fingers and her skin. The Breton wasn't proper in _any_ sense of the word…

Maëlys managed to find herself on her back, her head on J'Thaar's lap. She tilted her head back at the moment Njall's fingers brushed across her clit for the first time. Her eyes closed most of the way, but the Khajiit could still see her pupils moving back and forth through the narrow sliver that remained open. He decided he enjoyed seeing her in that position, with her arm twisted in front of her as she reached back to squeeze at his hardened length. He glanced up towards the front of the wagon, seeing the man from earlier staring back at the three in horror. He was desperately trying not to allow his wife or son's attentions to be drawn back to them. He obviously wanted no further trouble. J'Thaar smirked at the man, before casting his eyes back towards the Breton as she wriggled upon him.

The squeal Maëlys emitted as Njall slipped a thick finger inside her was enough to draw the mother's attention. Her jaw dropped in shock and horror; her stunned silence lasted a mere moment before she shrieked angrily.

"DRIVER!"

* * *

><p>"Miserable old bat," J'Thaar grumbled as the three made their way toward the inn. At least the driver had been courteous enough not to leave them stranded on the side of the road.<p>

"Could be worse," Njall shrugged, slyly drifting toward Maëlys as he walked. "Looks like we've got a place to spend the night, anyway."

Drunk though she was, the Breton was aware of Njall's movements. She grinned inwardly at the thought of the possibilities unfolding before her. Solitude be damned—she was on her way to more drinks and comfortable beds.

_Not that I intend to be falling asleep anytime soon, _she thought. She almost giggled again.

"Hmm," Maëlys said as she saw the inn appear before the three. "I suppose this is the place. Quaint, no? Do you think we might get ourselves kicked out of this place as well?" A mischievous grin spread across her face.

As she ascended the stairs to the porch of the thatch-covered building, her two companions stood back watching as her hips swayed while she climbed. A quick sideway glance at the Nord confirmed J'Thaar's suspicions – this was going to be a night to make even Dibella and Sanguine nervous to show their faces.

She stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned against the pillar, looking at the sign posted at the bottom of the stairs. "Nightgate Inn. Well boys…who's paying? I'm certainly not the one that got us kicked off of the wagon."

"Maëlys, are you fucking kidding me?" J'Thaar grumbled. "You were the one who squealed."

"So!" she exclaimed defiantly. "I wasn't the one who stuck a finger up my—"

"I'll pay," Njall interjected. "Consider it thanks for being so gracious so far." He stepped up beside her and ushered her in the door. The Khajiit felt a burning in his belly as he saw the Nord's hand drop to cup her arse as he did so. He wondered if Maëlys had any idea of what she was in for.

_Typical country inn_, J'Thaar thought. The men were ugly and most of the women were even uglier, but if smells were anything to go by then at least this place had juicy roast chicken and strong mead. All in all, not a bad place to be.

"You go ahead and pay," he said. "I'm going to get something to eat. Join me, or don't. Up to you."

"Whatever they've got cooking does smell damned good," Njall nodded. "I'll go and get the room situation sorted and we'll come find you again in a few minutes. Here, let me take your bag."

"Many thanks, friend," J'Thaar replied, unslinging his shoulder bag and handing it to Njall. He noticed the Nord's hand caressing the Breton's arse. "Take as much time as you need."

With that, Njall and Maëlys made for the bar and left the Khajiit to find a table. J'Thaar saw the perfect spot, close enough to the fire to keep him warm but just far enough from it that the heat wouldn't become uncomfortable. He moved toward the spot with a smile, slipping his hand into his pocket and fingering his moon sugar bottle, doing his best to ignore the grotesque woman with missing teeth and rusty armor who was so obviously eyeing him up from her chair.

He stopped to think about it for a second. He didn't like being eyed up. He slowly turned his eyes downward to meet the ugly woman's as she took a long pull from her tankard. She lowered her drink and wiped her mouth with the back of a dirty hand before speaking.

"So what're you, then?" the woman sneered. "A servant? A pet?"

"Why so curious, sweetheart? Does this one want to give the cat a stroke?" he smirked with a wink, hoisting his loins in the woman's general direction.

The legs of her chair scraped hard against the stone floor as she stood up. Indignation burned in her eyes as she began walking toward J'Thaar, her gauntleted hand coming to rest upon the hilt of the dagger at her hip.

"You wanna say that again, Kha—"

He cut her off with a quick, sharp left hook to her chin that sent her clattering to the floor in a heap.

"Fucking country inns," the Khajiit muttered to himself, shaking out his hand.

"Ah," came Maëlys' voice from behind him. "Making friends already, J'Thaar?" She sauntered around him, appearing at his side as he felt her hand at his hip, lingering a little. He looked at her face and it was evident the sugar was still strongly affecting her. She was definitely not used to its effects.

"I didn't like the way she looked at me. Already sorted out the rooms?" he asked as he continued to walk towards the seat he had spied. She walked alongside him, letting her hand fall from where it sat.

"Eh, I decided to let the Nord deal with it," she said. "Besides…I got something for you." He finally noticed she had been hiding one hand behind her back, which she now proudly displayed in front of him as she held out the largest crème pastry he'd ever laid eyes on. "Just…don't be so obvious about enjoying it, will you?"

He smiled slyly at her. She stole it. Of _course_ she did. He took the pastry from her and slid down into the chair he'd been eyeing. "Thanks Lys."

She smiled sweetly at him and slid into a chair of her own, flipping her legs over the side of it and stretching across it. The firelight landed on her in a way that made him think about setting fire to every building she would ever be in…just to be able to see her like that again. When she lifted her head back up, she caught his eyes lingering.

"Just _what_ are you looking at Khajiit?" she said, narrowing her eyes...almost daring him. But he wasn't about to take the bait yet.

"Don't you worry about what I'm looking at," he growled. He turned back to look towards the front of the large room they sat in, and noticed a woman approaching them – obviously a serving wench; not particularly attractive, but he didn't care one way or another.

"Afternoon," she greeted them when she reached the table. "You travelers hungry?"

J'Thaar looked her up and down for a moment, but thought better of wasting much breath on her. "What are those fine smells wafting through here?"

"Ah, well there's chicken roasting…a mammoth stew is also on the menu today. It's quite hearty. And fresh bread," she replied.

"If I know you," Maëlys interjected, "your mouth has been watering since hearing the words 'chicken roasting'."

He nodded. "Yeah, one of those," he replied.

"Make that two," she said.

"And two meads," he added. "Unless you have spiced wine."

He could almost hear the drool dripping from her mouth at the thought. The woman nodded and left, running into Njall and taking his order along the way.

As he turned back, he saw her looking over at the Nord. "Rather fortunate getting kicked off that wagon, don't you think? This isn't a bad place. It's a bed for the night at least." The way she plied at her lower lip with her fingers suggested she wasn't truly considering the bed for its true purpose however. It made J'Thaar shift in his seat.

Their new Nord friend joined them at the table, setting a big, green bottle down in the middle for all to share.

"More spiced wine for the pretty one," he said with a laugh, lowering himself into a seat. "So—I'm for pissing the day away in this fine establishment. Who's with me?"

J'Thaar held up his sugar bottle. "Count me in."

* * *

><p>It really was something else to see her on her knees. There was something so wicked about watching the way her hair bounced so slightly as she bobbed her head back and forth, about hearing her little whimpers and the wet sounds of her hands plying the Nord's swollen flesh. It was strangely amusing to see the way Maëlys struggled with the man's size; J'Thaar watched eagerly, wondering how she might scream at being stretched by such a thing …<p>

He had been pleasantly surprised that not only had Maëlys accepted more moon sugar; she had insisted upon it. Her inhibitions – if she truly had any – were dropped completely in favor of this new entanglement. And Njall had been more than happy to oblige. As he stood at the side of the bed, proudly offering himself to her, J'Thaar felt himself reacting to the scene…the way her trousers hugged her hips and arse perfectly…the way her throat moved as she fought to take him further into her small mouth. The sounds just sent him over the edge, reminding him of the first time she had placed her lips around him. She had been so eager to please and it caused a low growl to rumble from his throat.

Maëlys heard the sound, pulling back from the Nord to look over her shoulder at the Khajiit. They locked eyes for a brief moment before Njall drove his fingers into her hair, reminding her of what she should be doing. But in that moment, J'Thaar saw the hunger she possessed – and he tried to reel in the swirling thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. There was no jealousy over what he saw…in fact it was quite the opposite. He was content to share his little Breton with the man in front of her. The look on her face had confirmed she was ready for what she had gotten herself into this day and it served to make J'Thaar crazy with want and his hand drifted lazily to stroke himself.

She was overtaken by the sudden feeling of the Nord's hand on the back of her head, forcing her mouth further along his length. She choked silently as her throat filled up. Her body squirmed, desperate to get away, but Njall would have none of it. He held her in place for a moment, then gripped her hair and slowly pulled himself back. The Breton spluttered and gasped for air; her cheeks were streaked with tears leaking from the corners of angry eyes turned upward.

"Again," she panted. "Hurt me again. Give me more of it."

The Nord grinned wickedly, pushing back into Maëlys' mouth and forcing more of his length down her throat. J'Thaar twitched at the sight of her stomach heaving and the thick ropes of spittle hanging off her bottom lip. The redness of her cheeks was just starting to darken when Njall pulled out of her once more, leaving her choking and struggling to gain her breath back.

"There's no way you're taking the whole thing like this," he chuckled. "I think I know how you might, though."

Breathing heavily, she looked up at him, waiting for his next move. J'Thaar could only see her face from the side, but knew the look well. It was one he had quickly grown to appreciate; one that told him she'd do anything for him – and she was now giving it to Njall. He'd soon learn the full meaning of the expression on her face.

He reached down towards her waist, catching his fingers in her belt and pulling her up towards him. He quickly unfastened it and tossed it aside. He watched her as she seductively wiped away at her mouth with the back of her hand, not moving her eyes from his for a moment. She dragged her fingers across her mouth and down her neck, pulling at the collar of her tunic gently. He yanked the trousers down over her hips roughly, and as she wriggled out of the legs, he grabbed the tunic up and over her head in one swift motion. J'Thaar raised an eyebrow at the man's prowess in undressing the Breton so quickly.

The Nord motioned for her to turn around and she slowly began to comply. But her movements were far too slow for the impatient man and he gripped her roughly by the hips, pulling her arse towards him. The movement caused one of her arms to buckle and she collapsed forward on to the bed. It put a smile on Njall's face as her hips tilted upwards and he could see for the first time just what was waiting for him. His hand was quickly drawn down to her bottom and he dragged a calloused finger down one thigh and up the other, finally circling in and landing amongst her wet center. He wasted no time testing her; teasing her with one, and then two fingers. Her moan into the bed was evidence she was not willing to accept merely a taste.

J'Thaar stroked himself faster. He loved the way his little girl's perfect little arse wriggled when she was on her hands and knees waiting to get fucked. He'd never seen it from this angle, though; seeing the show unfold before him in his front row seat was something he found himself relishing.

Maëlys was growing impatient to the point of fury. "Are you going to sit there all night and tickle me with your thumbs, or are you going to fuck me?" she barked, looking back over her shoulder.

In an instant, the thumbs that were teasing her legs and arse were digging into the flesh of her hips with the rest of the Nord's fingers.

"You asked for it, missy," the man snarled, licking his teeth as he lined the tip of his pulsating mass against the Breton's folds and quickly thrust forward.

She screamed. She bucked. She gripped the sheets and tried to wriggle away from the massive intruder, but the Nord held fast and pulled her back into him until he had sunk inside her in his entirety.

J'Thaar squeezed himself, narrowing his eyes at how the crying Breton was burying her cheek in the mattress.

_Nothing clever to say, you little bitch?_

Even if she'd had something clever to say…even if she could have formed a coherent thought – or _word _– she'd likely not have been able to have had the gumption to issue it forth. Her hand found its way quickly to her open mouth and she drove her teeth down hard into the fleshy part of her palm. It was the only thing she could do to take her mind off of the absolute tearing apart of her insides that Njall's vicious thrusting was accomplishing. Her knees were already weak and she was barely able to hold herself up against his force. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears forcing out of the corners of them.

J'Thaar saw her closed eyes and without breaking stroke, pushed himself out of his chair and leaned in close to her face.

"Open your fucking eyes, girl," he hissed.

Her eyes snapped open, but she was in far too much delicious pain to consider penalty for his use of the pejorative term. She couldn't even bring herself to glare at him. He leaned in closer, taking in her scent and letting it fill him.

"You won't close your eyes again," he ordered. "You'll watch me until I say otherwise, Maëlys."

She attempted to nod, but failed as the Nord continued to pump himself deep into her. Her eyes opened wider and she released her hand from her mouth as yet another cry escaped her lips. Her fingers balled up around two handfuls of blanket and she squeezed hard.

With his free hand, J'Thaar reached up to stroke her forehead with his thumb. He could feel the sweat on her brow as he pushed the hair out of her eyes. She continued to look at him with desperation. She whimpered as he pressed his face to hers; his fur tickling her cheek.

"Don't say a word," he whispered. "I have other things in mind for your mouth."

He moved away and grabbed at her hair, tugging her head backward to slip into her open mouth…


	5. Who Needs Enemies?

**Warning: Graphic violence ahead.**

**Remember? We said no sex. So none of that. But johmatmarkun and I were not comfortable with simply writing a story with no sex – so we replaced all the stuff that would have been sex and wrote violence instead. Does that give you a hint of how much there will be? ;)**

**We all know J'Thaar's a suave sexy Khajiit…but perhaps this will give you guys an idea of just how dangerous he is. Also, for any of you who have seen 'American Psycho' and 'Natural Born Killers' – both of which I've seen **_**very**_** recently – well…that there's Maëlys for you. So here's a little bit of the pair, minus the pair. That's right, Maëlys and J'Thaar are heading off on their own for this one. Look out world.**

**Should have called this one 'Shenanigans in Solitude'.**

**Hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

><p>…<em>Who Needs Enemies?<em>

Approaching Solitude from the south always had a certain magic to it – it must have been something that the city's founders planned from the beginning. Or at least those that built the Blue Palace atop the natural archway over the Karth. Ascending the path towards the city gave one a sense of entering a place of power. The presence of structures like Castle Dour and the Bards College merely served to enhance the opulence of the city, surrounded by tremendous stone walls to keep squalor out and treasures in.

It was more than evident the place was a city full of riches. The fact that it was ripe for the picking caused Maëlys to squirm in her seat in the wagon as it settled to a halt just outside of the Solitude stables. She leapt to her feet the second it stopped moving.

"Finally," J'Thaar growled. "I thought we would _never_ get here."

Maëlys looked over her shoulder at him as she jumped off of the back of the wagon. "Stop your moaning, Khajiit. Just be happy we didn't get kicked off again."

He tossed his pack at her before making his way to the end of the wagon to disembark. "Well, my dear," he began, "you only have yourself to thank for that. You weren't nearly as accommodating today as you were last night." He smirked at her before glancing briefly at Njall as he also hopped off of the wagon.

She tossed the pack back to J'Thaar. "Oh, both of you can kiss my arse," she said angrily, spinning around and taking a few steps up the path. She halted her steps and turned to face them once more. "On second thought…no. You can't."

The Nord and the Khajiit watched her attempt to stomp the rest of the way towards the city gates; each reacting as her anger dissipated into a hobbled ambling. She was clearly in discomfort over their misadventures from the evening spent at the Nightgate Inn, and nothing pleased J'Thaar more than to have this little reminder from it. They followed her to the gates, purposely lagging behind so to take pleasure in her tormented limp.

When she reached the gates, she stopped and turned around, tossing her pack directly at J'Thaar.

"Ugh!" he exclaimed, glaring up at her. "Can't walk properly, and now your arms are broken too?"

"Look, J'Thaar," she snarled. "They may let your flea-ridden arse into Riften, but Solitude's going to require a bit of finesse. So act…subservient or something."

He immediately tossed the pack back at her. "Did you forget about the arrangements I made? A few extra septims to the merchants' guild and no one will even bat an eyelid."

"What are you—?" She approached him as he produced a scroll from his jacket and unrolled it for her to see. As she examined it, a smile settled on to her face and she looked back up at him as she handed it back.

"Not bad, J'Thaar," she said. "Didn't think you'd manage to get an actual mercantile license out of those tight arses. But I'm impressed. Why, you might actually be able to turn legit with this." She reached up and scratched his cheek lightly before heading back towards the gate.

After several moments of waiting for others to be allowed or denied entry into Solitude, the four gate guards finally turned their attention to the odd trio before them. However, it was J'Thaar who drew their attention first.

"Just where do you think you're heading today, cat?" the largest of the four prompted.

Maëlys glanced back at him momentarily and seeing his lips beginning to snarl above his teeth, quickly interjected. "Do not address the Khajiit in that manner," she said, attempting to defer their attention. "If you wish to know his business, then you wish to know mine. And that is something I do _not_ appreciate."

"And just who are you?" another guard asked. A young fair haired woman with a ferocious looking scar on her cheek peered out at them from under a helm that was much too big for her head.

"I represent Maven Black-Briar of Riften," she replied. "See to it that we are not held up from our business, lest your little city here be permanently left off the delivery list for the Black-Briar Meadery." She emphasized her words with a twist of her hand in the direction of the city. It was quite effective, giving her the air of someone who was of some import.

When she finished speaking, three of the guards looked nervously at each other and stepped back. None wished to be the guard that caused a shortage of mead in Solitude. However, the fourth guard, a grizzled older man maintained his position.

"You two are fine," he said, motioning to Maëlys and Njall. "But the cat stays out."

"The _Khajiit_…can pass," J'Thaar growled, stepping forward and shoving the license from the merchants' guild into the suspicious guard's face.

The man nearly ripped it out of his hand and read it over. He scrutinized it for several agonizingly slow moments before looking back up at J'Thaar. He looked back down at the license and then thrust the paper into his chest.

"Let them pass."

It took all of the Khajiit's effort to hold in a snide remark as he followed Njall and Maëlys through the gate.

"Sometimes your ingenuity surprises even me, J'Thaar," she remarked.

When she heard no response, she looked over her shoulder at him. He was visibly fixated on _something_. She looked in the direction his eyes were focused and saw several Altmer women gathered near the entrance to a shop. None of the women appeared to be up for sale, but Maëlys knew that was where J'Thaar's thoughts were drifting anyhow. She rolled her eyes.

"Searching for new merchandise already, are we? Come, Khajiit," she declared. "Let's go have some fun." She had clearly interrupted his thoughts and flashed a smile at his unawareness.

* * *

><p>J'Thaar had decided early on that a trip to Solitude would not—no, could not—be complete without the purchase of several sets of new clothes. Solitude clothiers were renowned throughout Tamriel for their skill, and as luck would have it, the East Empire Company had recently brought in a large shipment of the finest silks. To J'Thaar, there were few things finer than the feeling of a brand new silk shirt against his fur.<p>

There were few things more awkward, however, than the feeling of a tailor's hands measuring the highest points of the insides of his thighs. A necessary discomfort, he assured himself—but a discomfort nonetheless. It didn't help that this particular tailor's eyesight had apparently gone to shit in his old age; the withered Altmer brought his face a little too close to J'Thaar's legs to view every measurement.

"On which side do you dress, sir?" the elf asked in a voice shaky with his advanced age.

"That depends on how pretty the girls I see are," the Khajiit replied.

His words were met with an audible scoff from the High Elf woman behind the counter. _Fucking needle-nosed yellow-skins have no sense of humor_, J'Thaar thought to himself.

"To the left, I suppose," he sighed.

"Very good, sir," the tailor mumbled.

The Altmer's hands wandered away from J'Thaar's crotch and down toward his ankles; the Khajiit was more than a little relieved. He turned his head over his shoulder and called out to the woman at the counter.

"Oh, and shopkeeper? I'll be wanting toview your shoes."

The woman rolled her eyes. "_Anything_ for our most _refined_ customer of the day," she groaned in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

J'Thaar clicked his tongue behind his teeth disdainfully. "If this one wants a tip, she would do well to drop the attitude."

He was positive he heard the tailor chuckle. Maybe the old elf had a sense of humor, after all.

* * *

><p>With J'Thaar left to his own devices for the afternoon, Maëlys parted ways with Njall. He went off to seek out his cousins who lived just outside of the city. They owned a small chicken farm and had been tasked with providing the Blue Palace with its supply of eggs and poultry for decades. He advised her he'd return to let them know when he'd be in Riften again. She sensed he had more than enjoyed his time with the two up to that point.<p>

Considering they would be in the city for at least a few nights, she considered perhaps finding a place to stay. _But what better way to fund such an investment than to take in some new coin…_

She set off on the streets, breathing in the air of the great northern city. Even though it wasn't much further north than Riften, perhaps it was just the fact that there wasn't the fishy stench of the canal running through the middle of the city that allowed for the clean crisp air to fill her nostrils. When she continued towards the market, the number of people filling the streets increased.

_Perfect_, she thought to herself.

She spied a family standing close together near one of the merchant's stalls. The mother and father were far too engrossed in perusing the wares of the merchant – which consisted of gold and silver and jewels the likes Riften had probably never seen – to be bothered to pay attention to their two children who were running around and running into other patrons of the market. It was too good of a scenario to pass up. Maëlys felt it prudent that she teach the children a lesson…_and_ their parents, for that matter.

As she stood near a large wagon, she observed the children as they ran and tripped up people in their wake. Just as one of the two young boys was about to run past her, she stepped into his path and he ran headlong into her. He crashed to the ground with a wail, and she doubled over with a very well-acted yelp, dropping her pack for extra emphasis. Still, the parents of the boy did not pay attention to the clatter – only another merchant had paid the slightest attention.

Maëlys shook her head in annoyance before leaning towards the boy. She reached for his wrist and yanked him up off of the ground.

"Get up, you little twit," she growled as she began to drag him kicking towards his parents.

A bony finger shot up to tap the mother on the shoulder angrily. The woman spun around and looked down at Maëlys with her son in the Breton's grip.

"What…what is the meaning of this?" the mother said angrily. "Let go of my son!"

"Your _son_ felt it necessary to crash into me," Maëlys retorted. "He nearly knocked me clean off of my feet, and I'm _certain_ something is broken in my pack." She felt around the bottom of it. "Yes, there are definitely some broken flasks in there. Do you know how _expensive_ it can be for an alchemist to replace such things?"

The woman's facial expression changed. She leaned forward and grabbed her son's hand from Maëlys' grip. "Markus! What have I told you about running around like this when there are so many people around?"

"But momma," the boy whined. "I didn't run into her. She wasn't even there and then, all of a sudden—."

"Don't you lie to me, boy!"

"I'm _not_!"

Maëlys chuckled to herself as the she slid her hand into the woman's pack and pulled it back with a coin purse in her grasp. She also noticed that the merchant behind the counter had turned his attention to the scene in front of him. As she leaned back against the counter, he hadn't even noticed that her small fingers had lifted several ropes of gold and a handful of jewels.

She was about to leave when the father of the boy grabbed on to her arm. She held in her natural reaction to whip out her dagger and hold it to the man's throat. Instead, she looked at him and waited for him to speak.

"I'm truly sorry," he said. "Please…let me give you some septims to replace the broken materials in your pack. Will twenty be enough?"

"Oh, more than enough, kind sir," she replied, nearly retching over the words. "Thank you." She took the coins from the man's outstretched hands and quickly headed off.

As she continued to walk among the people between the stalls, she sized up several more potential victims. Nearly ready to make her next move, she sidestepped around a small group of patrons and crashed hard into a passing man. When she steadied herself, she turned to face him to mumble a half-hearted apology in order to prevent a scene. The apology was on the tip of her tongue when her breath was stolen from her throat.

"Loïc?"

"Maëlys…what are you doing in Solitude?"

"I…I'm…"

Her eyes narrowed at him; her brain raced with all the hundreds of things she wished to say to him. But not one of them allowed itself to form into a word…or a statement…not even a question. She immediately spun around and ran off, leaving her brother confused behind her.

* * *

><p>J'Thaar made his way out of the shop and into the streets, taking in his surroundings. Out of the corner of his eye, a blur of motion headed straight towards him.<p>

"Maëlys!"

She nearly crashed into him as she stormed through the square. He grabbed her by the wrist as she stomped past him and halted her dead in her tracks.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Take your fucking paws off of me, J'Thaar!" she yelled. "Fucking Solitude. I _knew_ I shouldn't have come here."

He pulled her closer and forced her to look at him. "Maëlys. What happened?"

She breathed out an angry breath and looked away from him. "I'm not staying here."

"_Tell_ me."

"Loïc," she growled. "Loïc is here."

It was the first time in recent memory where J'Thaar found himself without words. He could see the pain etched on to her face – even behind all of the anger. He reached for her chin and turned her head to face him – her eyes were squeezed shut.

"Look at me, Maëlys," he said. When she opened them, he continued. "We are here for a reason. That reason doesn't have to include dealing with your brother. Not if you don't want to."

"And just how do you expect me to avoid him now?" she growled. Her hand flew up to where his was still holding her chin and she roughly pushed it away. "He knows I'm in the city. He'll find me whether I'm looking for him or not. Of course, there's always the chance he doesn't even give a shit."

He couldn't help but recall the day Loïc left Riften. The heartbreak she experienced that day was enough to last her a lifetime and wished to never see her go through it again.

"We don't have to stay here. Plenty of other cities with coin to lift."

"No," she objected. "We have business to take care of. There're too many contacts here. We're not going anywhere."

"You can go and stay outside of the city then," he suggested. "I'll take care of what needs to be done. And then—"

"J'Thaar," she interrupted. "Shut up or I'll pull your fucking ears off. We're staying. _Both_ of us."

The corners of his mouth turned upwards slightly. "Did you manage to find a room yet?"

She shook her head. "No. But I met a lovely family who was more than willing to help out with the costs." She tossed him a small coin pouch and he caught it with a smirk.

"Nice work, Lys," he said. "Good to see you haven't lost your touch."

"Ha!" she scoffed and scratched under his chin. "As if you ever doubted me."

* * *

><p>It wasn't long before Maëlys sank back into an unpleasant mood. J'Thaar realized the sudden appearance of her brother brought with it a plethora of negative emotions, but Divines' sakes—the girl was sucking the mirth right out of him. They hadn't even been in Solitude a day and already the little Breton had found a way to kill the excitement. After a bit of arguing (and another one of those damned sharp elbows in the Khajiit's ribs), J'Thaar left Maëlys at an inn near the city gates to sort out accommodations for the night.<p>

_The Winking Skeever_, he thought as he walked the wide cobblestone street. _By the Gods… perhaps he who first spoke of "Nordic charm" was overly euphemistic._

The sun's light slowly began to soften as the day gave way to the late afternoon hour. Some vendors were closing up shopfor the day, but others were quickly coming in to replace them. J'Thaar heard music start to play from inside a few taverns lining the boulevard; he'd heard talk of Solitude nightlife, and he fully intended to gauge the quality for himself. Nothing could ever beat the Canal, though.

The sudden familiar feeling of untrained fingers in his back pocket caught his attention. His hand snapped backward to snag a skinny wrist in his grasp; he turned around quickly to see a scraggly young boy wincing at the pain in his twisted limb. J'Thaar slapped him soundly across the face, adding a bit of red to his dirt-smudged cheek.

"What are you doing to that boy, you monster?" growled a finely-dressed woman off to the side.

The Khajiit twisted the wrist in his hand a little bit harder and pushed down, forcing the boy to his knees.

"This boy just tried to steal from me. Mind your own business, woman, and let me attend mine."

Without giving her another thought, J'Thaar grabbed the boy by the collar of his ragged shirt, picked him up off the cobblestones, and walked him over to the edge of the street. He roughly pushed the boy's back against a wall and knelt down in front of him.

"Get your hands off me, sand-kitten!" the boy snarled.

J'Thaar released the boy's shirt and slapped him again—harder this time. He saw his knees go slightly weak.

"Keep your mouth shut. I'm going to tell you a story."

"Fuck you!" the boy spat.

J'Thaar let go of the boy's wrist and grabbed his collar once again and shoved him hard against the wall, causing the child to lose his breath. "Once I'm finished, you'll be on your way. No harm done. Now shut up and listen."

The boy had anger in his eyes, but he did not speak again.

"Do you see this?" J'Thaar asked. He curled his lips back and tapped one of his front teeth with his claw.

"It's a tooth," the boy muttered.

The Khajiit nodded. "There is something different about this tooth. Do you see it?"

The boy blinked. "It looks different. Almost like... almost like silver, but whiter."

"Yes. Moonstone. When I was very young, I stole an egg from a market stall. My mother saw me eating it; we hadn't had any eggs for days. She punched me right in the mouth and knocked out my tooth. Tomy surprise, she did not seem angry. While I was holding my cheek and spitting blood in the dirt, she told me I was not being punished for stealing—I was being punished for getting caught. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The anger had faded from the boy's face. "I understand," he said.

"You have someone to care for, yes? I don't suspect you would fight like you did if you were by yourself."

The boy's eyes dropped. "My little sister," he sighed.

J'Thaar released the boy's shirt and stood up. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his coin purse. He loosened the string and fished a few coins from the little leather bag, then dropped them onto the stones at the boy's feet.

"Enough for a roast chicken and two loaves of bread."

The boy reached down toward the coins. J'Thaar immediately grabbed a handful of hair and wrenched the boy's face upward, causing the lad to cry out.

"You will make sure your sister eats well tonight. And you will find a way to practice so as not to get caught again. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the boy hissed through clenched teeth.

"Good." The Khajiit smiled, throwing the boy to the street. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked off toward further exploration.

* * *

><p>As she paced around the small room she had arranged for herself and J'Thaar during their time in Solitude, Maëlys found it exceedingly difficult not to look out of the small window and on to the streets that passed in front of the Winking Skeever. The fear of having to deal with her brother unprepared had her on edge; paranoia gripping her completely.<p>

Though, not so completely that the boredom of locking herself in a room was not overtaking her.

"Fuck this," she growled to the empty room. She retrieved a small satchel from the floor; she had no intentions of picking any more pockets that night, but still, if the option presented itself…

She quickly exited the room and headed into the tavern portion of the building, all but ignoring the musical strains of the bards.

"Can I get you a drink there, little lady?" called a voice from the bar.

She stopped and faced the bar. A tall Nord leaned against in, flashing a slightly seductive smile her way. She spun and stepped towards him.

"Why, I'd adore a drink," she purred. "Spiced wine is my favourite."

The Nord turned towards the man behind the bar. "Spiced wine for the lady." He turned back to her quickly. "I'm Sander. And I'm certain that the pleasure is mine to meet you…" He allowed his voice to trail off in the hopes that she'd offer her own name.

She leaned against the bar and waited for her drink. When the goblet slid in her direction, she immediately picked it up as Sander tossed a few septims to the man behind the bar. She took several gulps of the wine before pulling the goblet away from her lips; the liquid trickled out of the corner of her mouth.

He watched as her tongue slipped out of her mouth to catch some of the drops. As he raised an eyebrow, he remembered she still had not let him know her name. "So…what's your name?"

"My name's not important," she replied quickly. She grabbed the goblet again, sucking back the last of the spiced wine. "Thanks for the drink, Sandy." She spun away from the bar and began to walk towards the door.

"It's Sander," he called from behind her. "And where are you going anyway?"

As she stepped through the door of the tavern, she could hear footsteps following her. She ignored him and continued on into the main square.

But the footsteps continued to follow her. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw him still following her.

"I don't suggest you continue to follow me," she warned without stopping.

He stepped quicker towards her and grabbed her arm, spinning her backwards. "But I bought you a drink. The least you could do is—"

Maëlys glared at his fingers upon her arm and the expression on her face caused him to stop speaking. "Oh? You buy me a drink so I'm…what? Your _property_ now? Get your hands off of me!" She wrenched her arm away from him and stomped off towards the city gate. "Fucking Nord _men_ and their…" Her voice trailed off as she pushed the gate open angrily.

She headed in the direction of the stables and when she could see the river, decided that would be the perfect place for her to clear her head. It would be a long walk, but it would be worth it.

The skies were already darkening, but that meant she likely wouldn't run into any annoyances along the way. At least, that was what she _thought_…

No sooner was she on the path parallel to river when she found herself face to face with another traveller. In the dim light of his torch, she could see him sizing her up and she could sense that he wasn't alone.

"Well, well," the man said with a smirk. "What do we have here? A young woman on the road by herself? At night? Don't you know it's dangerous in these parts?"

One of her hands trailed up to where her dagger sat at her waist as she readied herself for what she knew was about to come. As she did so, two others appeared at her rear on either side of the path.

_Well J'Thaar…it looks as though my brother is the least of my worries right about now…_

* * *

><p>He was being followed. He was sure of it. For nearly half an hour now, he'd kept seeing the same flashes of jewelry and the same dark, scaly faces out of the corners of his eyes.<p>

He made sure to keep his observations subtle as he pretended to peruse the square. He noticed his shadowy pursuers casually closing the distance between their positions and his.

He scanned the square for a place to make his stand. He found it in a nearby alleyway; there didn't appear to be any activity near its mouth.

Street entertainers and wandering bards had the throng of Solitude citizenry making plenty of noise. He hoped it would be enough to drown out the sounds of fighting; with any luck, there wouldn't be much screaming in the alleyway.

He clasped his hands behind his back, acting like he didn't have a care in the world as he strolled toward his destination. The flashes of jewelry were gone now; he knew they were behind him. If they were stupid enough to give themselves away so early on in their pursuit, he figured they wouldn't be sensible enough to see his intentions in luring them toward a dark corner of the square.

His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness of the alley. The footsteps behind him became heavier; his keen ears twitched at the sounds of blades being drawn.

He turned. His attackers charged.

They were fast, but he was ready for them. He spun as he dropped into a crouch, flaring his leg out in a wide arc. He caught one assailant low across the shins. The man's feet left the ground and he face-planted hard; his dagger went clattering across the alleyway.

J'Thaar rose quickly. The second man thrust wildly at his torso; he parried the attack across his body, turned his hips and launched a sharp sideways kick into his opponent's open ribs. The man's breath gave out completely; he crumpled forward, and in an instant J'Thaar's hands were on his chin and the crown of his head. With a vicious twist, the Khajiit snapped his enemy's neck. He felt the break all the way up in his shoulders; there would be no celebrating tonight for this one.

The other would-be assassin grunted as he tried to rise to his hands and knees. J'Thaar walked over to him calmly. He reached inside his jacket for a blade; he wasn't ready for the man to whip his hands out toward his ankles and take his feet out from under him.

It wasn't a hard fall; the shock was more forceful than the impact itself. Clever bastard, the Khajiit thought to himself as the man scrambled to get on top.

J'Thaar used his attacker's own momentum against him and swept him onto his back. The man bucked, giving himself just enough room to turn his back. He hooked his calves around the man's hips and swiftly snaked his arm around the front of his neck. He clasped his palms together and squeezed. The man threw himself onto his side, desperate to shake the Khajiit off his back, but J'Thaar held firm. He pulled his shoulders back, gritting his teeth as he compressed his assailant's neck. The man's flailing limbs quickly lost their strength; it wasn't long before he lay limp atop J'Thaar.

He kept the pressure long enough to ensure the man was dead. He kicked the corpse away and climbed back to his feet, brushing the dirt off his trousers and the front of his jacket. Even in death, these blighters always seemed to make sure he dirtied his clothes.

A slow clap started up from the dark end of the alleyway. J'Thaar slipped his hand back inside his jacket and grasped the hilt of a dagger. He froze as the figure drew closer; even in the darkness, her face was as plain as day.

"Well done, little kitten," she said. "Well done, indeed."

* * *

><p>As Maëlys stood there surrounded – by two men and an Argonian, if she judged by the hissing noise she was certain she could hear to her right – she ran through just how this scenario might play out. She could likely take one of them down with no trouble. She might even be able to deal some sort of damage to one of the others…but all three of them? No, she would definitely not make it out of this fight alive. But if she was going to go down, she would at least make a go of it.<p>

_Oh Khajiit, what I wouldn't give for one of your perfectly aimed throwing knives…_

"This one's pretty, boys," the man in front of her growled approvingly. "Try not to fuck her up too much."

"Nice arse too," said a voice from behind her.

_Perfect_, she thought. With the voice to gauge her target's location, she knew exactly who to begin with.

"Fuck me up?" she taunted. "Please. I'll be feeding all of you to the mudcrabs for breakfast."

As she considered the level of confidence she managed to force her voice to project, she conjured energy in her palm and spun to face the man behind her, sending a burst of flame directly at him. It exploded upon impact and while she wasn't certain if it killed him, she knew that he at least would be staggered for a few moments. She seized the opportunity to jump backwards as the man in front of her dove towards her with his sword drawn.

He swung wide of her, missing her completely, but his time to recover was minimal. He spun on a heel to land directly in front of her, as the third attacker – whom she confirmed to in fact be Argonian – advanced from her left. The first man came at her again, this time aiming to drive the pommel of his sword into her head. She ducked out of the way and it caught her in the shoulder, sending her backwards on to the ground. She landed hard, but not enough to daze her. She managed to send a bolt of energy at the man with the sword, catching him clean in his throat. He fell backwards, landing hard on a rock jutting out from the path. If the bolt didn't kill him, the cracked skull sure would have.

The Argonian rushed towards her, an axe in his hand. Maëlys managed to shove herself to her feet into a low crouch as he brought the axe towards her former position on the ground. She spun round and threw her body at his legs, effectively tackling him to the ground. As he attempted to recover, she whipped her dagger around and drove it into the side of his throat.

"Fucking lizards," she growled. She stood up and began to dust herself off before she felt a jab in her side.

"Don't fucking move."

She lifted her hands up slowly.

"Drop the dagger. And turn around."

She complied. At the other end of a _very_ sharp shortsword was the man who she sent the fireball at – his clothing was still smoldering.

"I'm going to gut you like a little pig," he growled.

"Why don't we just…call it even?" she suggested.

"Shut your mouth, bitch!" he yelled as he dragged the tip of the sword up her body to her throat.

Her thoughts again drifted to J'Thaar. What would he think of this? How she was about to die at the hands of some petty bandits…alone and…_disgraced_. She internally shrugged, considering how she _did_ in fact put up a decent fight. _Being outnumbered three to one is a little much to expect positive results…_

Before she could continue to think more on her regrets for the night, motion out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Without warning, a man rushed at her attacker, sending him crashing to the ground; the sword clattering.

_Sander? I told him not to follow…_

She jumped back out of the way as the Nord began to punch the other man in the face. "Leave the girl alone!"

The sound of the word 'girl' set her blood to boiling. She angrily began to look around on the ground in the dark for the dagger she tossed aside. The two men continued to fight; the bandit pulled a small dagger on Sander and managed to cut him a few times, but was starting to wear down as the Nord kept hitting him in the face.

Finally, Maëlys retrieved her dagger. She stood up, once more dusted herself off and clenched the dagger in one hand.

"Why the fuck does everyone insist on calling me _girl_?" she growled into the darkness before sending a massive burst of flame at the two men. It exploded as it hit them, instantly killing the bandit and sending Sander backwards into a large boulder. His body flopped and landed hard on the ground; he struggled to regain his breath as he began to cough up blood.

"Why did you follow me?" she asked, her voice sickeningly sweet as she stepped slowly towards him.

He couldn't answer; merely continued to cough and grab at his stomach in pain.

She launched herself atop his bloodied and burnt body. As she straddled him, she held the knife to his throat. "Just couldn't leave it alone huh? Had to know my gods-damned name. My name's Maëlys, you got that? Are you happy you know now? I bet you'll never forget that name, will you?"

He looked at her with terror in his eyes. "Please…I was only trying to help you."

She glared at him. "I can take care of myself," she snarled – thinking of her brother and how he abandoned her – driving her blade deep into Sander's chest.

Maëlys lifted herself up off of him. She spit on his lifeless body as she wiped the blood from her dagger.

"I _told_ you not to fucking follow me."


	6. Vulnerable

**So, first things first. We've had a number of people fave this story and sign up for alerts. It's important that we acknowledge those of you who have just enough of a crazy streak to enjoy this one. We're also appreciative of each and every review you give us - it makes us positively giddy to read them! Feel free to give us more...we won't complain. Thank you all so much for your interest in our _very_ non-conventional story!**

**Speaking of non-conventional, this chapter is about to become just so. It would appear that johmatmarkun and I are tending towards the masochistic with this story...what, with all the situations we're forcing ourselves to write (and the fact that this one is just about 10,000 words!). Perhaps we're just wondering how many people we can piss off with some of our ideas. Either way, to those of you sticking around for the ride, it's about to get bumpier. ****The past is catching up with our two anti-heroes.**

**We used to think that Riften was the centre of all things debaucherous and deadly - I was reminded by one of our readers, Temerice, that 'what happens in Riften, stays in Riften', but with everything that's been going on in Solitude, she's also given us the perfect slogan for this chapter: _Anything can happen in Solitude_. And boooooy, was she ever right!**

**This chapter is strongly prohibited to persons with heart conditions, back, neck and spinal injuries, recent surgery, pregnancy, a sense of decency and a lack of appreciation for moar secks. Please keep your arms, legs, bits and bobs in the car at all times.**

**Must be this tall to ride.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Vulnerable<em>**

_Amira._

Even saying the Redguard's name inside his head caused his blood to boil. He'd devoted years of his life to learning her teachings, training under her, reading her damned books… and she just took off and left in the night, leaving him with only a dagger and a piece of parchment. "I'll see you again, little kitten," was all it read.

J'Thaar remembered. He remembered everything. Angry thoughts swirled throughout his mind as he stabbed at the hot plum pastry on his plate.

"You might as well eat that, you know," the woman said. "It's not like you have to kill it."

He paid her no mind. He kept his eyes down, content to simply poke at his food. Its syrupy contents ran lazily over the surface of the plate. _At least I can make something bleed_, he thought, trying to console himself.

Amira sighed. "Is it really so terrible seeing me again, little kitten?"

J'Thaar's eyes snapped upward to her face in a heated glare. "Call me that again and I'll take to stabbing you, instead."

She laughed. "Come now, little kitten—is that any way to greet your old mentor?"

His ears flattened instinctively; he whipped his knife across the table in the Redguard's direction, only for her to grab it and slam it into the wood below. In a flash, her own knife was at the crook of his elbow, its point pricking at his sleeve. If she wanted to, she could have driven it home and severed every blood vessel and tendon inside. Instead, she shook her head.

"You should know by now that you'll have to try a lot harder than that, Khajiit," she said. She released her grip on J'Thaar's wrist; he jerked his hand back angrily, his eyes returning to his pastry in a sullen stare.

"Oh, don't act so indignant," Amira scoffed. "You're alive, aren't you? It's been, what—ten years? A decade is plenty of time for one to get himself killed. Looks like I taught you well enough for you to survive on your own."

"Teaching me to survive… is that what you told yourself when you picked fights with armed men and threw me into the fray by myself with little more than a butter knife?"

"You made it out every time, didn't you? I had to stitch you up on occasion, but that 'butter knife' of yours cut through throats and arteries like a scythe through stalks of wheat."

J'Thaar sneered. "Proud of yourself, are you? You definitely sound it."

"I'm always proud of myself," she replied. "I've fought hard all my life, and I've lived long because of it.

_Smug bitch_, he thought.

"And," she continued, "though it may be hard for you to see—and honestly, I don't understand why it should—I'm proud of you, too. I always have been, little kitten."

He drove his knife through the middle of his pastry, shaking the entire table; the noise caused several patrons to look over in their direction.

"Don't. Call. Me. That."

Amira chuckled. "Very well, _J'Thaar_. I suppose it's time I start talking to you like an adult, anyway. You've surely grown into a man, after all. A survivor."

She cut off a piece of his pastry, speared it on the end of her knife and flung it from across the table directly into her mouth.

"Still," she said as she chewed, "you might show a little more gratitude. Would you rather have gone to Honorhall? Human children suffer enough in that place; I can only imagine that old hag Grelod would have skinned you and made herself a new pair of slippers."

He raised his eyes again.

"You left me."

She shrugged. "I taught you all you needed to know to survive on your own."

"No," he snarled. "You _left_ me. You left me alone to contend with—"

"Yes, I did. I left you alone to contend with life in the most dangerous city in Skyrim. I left you so that you might teach yourself a thing or two. I left you so you could unlock that treasure trove of potential I always saw in you, and by the looks of it, I was right to do so."

J'Thaar closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He reached into his jacket and produced his moon sugar vial. Amira eyed him closely as he unscrewed the lid.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm in a mood," he snapped. "Leave it."

Amira's hand shot out across the table. J'Thaar was ready for it, though; his free hand snatched two of her fingers an inch away from his little bottle and bent them backwards, forcing her to lower her entire body to alleviate the pressure.

"I told you to leave it."

She grinned through a grimace. "See? I taught you well."

* * *

><p><em>So much for a calming walk to clear my head.<em>

Maëlys climbed the long, steep path back up to Solitude from the banks of the Karth. The incident with the bandits…and the Nord whose name she barely remembered now was something she certainly could have done without. She was tired…injured from the fight…and covered in all manner of blood. It was dark enough still – at least any of the guards at the gate would have a hard time seeing just how covered in blood she was. She was thankful most of it wasn't her own, but the limp she was dealing with might draw attention. She crossed her fingers it wouldn't – she just wanted to get back into the city…back to the Winking Skeever…and back into a warm bed.

As she approached the final ascent to the city near the stables, she noticed only one torch was lit at the gate. She quickly pulled off her coat and wrapped it up, shoving it under her arm. It was the bloodiest – the guards on duty would barely notice anything else. If she honeyed up her voice a little, they'd let her through with no problems – besides, it wasn't as if she had J'Thaar with her this time.

Just as she suspected, her trouble at the gate was minimal. However, the chill in the air meant she'd need to cover herself up with the bloodied coat once again. The main square was quite dark though. Everyone there seemed to be interested in their own business anyhow – she'd slip right past all the late-night revellers right into the Skeever and all would be well.

She weaved her way through the crowd, turning towards the tavern when her eyes fell upon an unexpected sight. _J'Thaar? What are you…who is that?_

She spied him standing next to a woman…a _Redguard_, at that. Older. Attractive. _Dear gods. First the Bosmer. I know he's got his eyes on the Altmer. Now a Redguard?_ She sighed. This was not something she had the patience to deal with at the moment. Her warm bed would have to wait. The pair was _too_ close to the entrance of the Skeever to slip in unnoticed. She decided to continue on to avoid them.

_Where in Oblivion am I going to go at this hour?_

But she kept walking – dipping in between people as they stood about in the square. Just as she thought she'd made it out of their view, she felt a hand grab her shoulder. She spun around, reaching for the hand and feeling fur.

_J'Thaar! How'd he even see me?_

"Maëlys…where are you off to at this—?" he began to ask, but stopped mid-sentence when he saw her face. "What the…you're _covered_ in blood. What happened to you?"

"I…got into some…_trouble_," she replied with a sigh.

"What did you do?" his voice growling in hushed tones. "Did you…kill someone, Maëlys? How many times must I tell you that you just _can't_ go around shoving your dagger into everyone who says he doesn't like your hair?"

Her face drooped as she shook her head. "So nice to see you're concerned." She made to turn around to get control of her emotions before they ended up taking her some place she _never_ wanted to go with the Khajiit, but he grabbed her arm and prevented her from leaving. She turned back and faced him, gritting her teeth and waiting for him to say…_some_thing. It was then that she noticed the Redguard woman was there at his side.

"Too many eyes here," Amira whispered. "We should—"

"'We?'" J'Thaar growled. "What 'we?' Are you carrying a skeever under your cloak? We are not doing anything. My friend and I are going to go sort this out."

She sighed. "If she's hurt, then she needs tending to. Unless you've somehow acquired magical abilities since last I saw you, I'm the only healer among us."

"Maëlys is an exceptional alchemist. I'm sure she brought—"

"I don't have anything," the little Breton murmured. "I don't have anywhere to prepare the ingredients."

"Idiot girl," he muttered under his breath.

Maëlys glowered. "Fuck you, Khajiit."

"Enough,"Amira said. "J'Thaar, you mentioned you have a room here. Let's just get her to her bed and I'll help her mend. After that, I'll leave."

He started to say something, but Amira cut him off.

"There's no more time to argue. People are already beginning to look this way." She looked to the Breton. "Maëlys, is it? Where is your room?"

"Upstairs," she replied.

"Good. Let's get you settled."

* * *

><p>"She's asleep," Amira said, taking a seat by J'Thaar.<p>

He didn't respond. He kept his eyes on Maëlys; her brow was still wet from where he wiped away the blood with a damp rag, and she now lay breathing softly as she slumbered. He was angry with her, surely, but he was more relieved than anything else she'd come out of her encounter in one piece. He would have set the whole world ablaze if she'd been killed.

"You care for her a great deal, don't you?"

J'Thaar shot the Redguard a look, but did not speak.

Amira continued. "It's written all over your face. Is she your woman?"

He looked down at his hands as they wrung at the fabric of his trousers. "She's all I have in the world."

"I can tell she's very talented with her spells; I'll have to teach her some basic healing, though, if she's to carry on like this. Is she from Riften?"

He shook his head. "She came to the city just over a year after you left. She's been at my side ever since."

She gently placed a hand on his knee; he swatted her away, irritated by her boldness.

"Don't touch me."

She stood off the edge of the bed and moved to his front.

"I beat you, I starved you, I threw you to the wolves—but you want to stay angry with me because I _left_? How many times did you hear me say that one day I'd be gone and you would have to make your own way in the world?"

"Keep your voice down, woman!" he hissed. "I'll not have you wake her! In fact, didn't you mention something about leaving as soon as you had her seen to?"

She lowered her voice. "I've decided I'm not leaving until you and I have resolved some of this tension."

"_Tchah_…" he growled. He stood up and walked several paces from the bed, turning his back to the Redguard.

Her footsteps were silent as she slowly approached from behind, but he could feel her coming toward him. She'd always been good about staying quiet. He felt the tip of his tail brush against her; he withdrew it quickly, doing his best to keep it from swaying. She came up alongside him; part of him wanted to lash out, but he didn't want to risk waking Maëlys.

"I know this is hard for you to understand," she said, "but everything I ever did to you I only ever did out of love."

"Love?" he sneered. "You're telling me you _love _me, are you?"

She stepped around to face him once again. "That's exactly what I'm telling you. You obviously remember the fights I got you into—surely you also remember how I used to take your head in my lap and tell you stories while we sat by the fire?"

He said nothing.

"Surely you remember how every year on your birthday you would wake up to the smell of sweet cakes I'd baked you?"

He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to the floorboards. "I remember."

She reached out and took his hands in hers; this time, he did not pull away. Even now, years later, her hands were still as soft and smooth as they ever were.

"I taught you as I was taught. The only difference was that I left, whereas my mentor—my father—was killed. I told you that, didn't I?"

He nodded solemnly. "You did."

"That was when my real training began. Only when I began teaching myself did I really, _truly _learn. Do you understand, now?"

He swallowed again. "Yes."

She smiled. "Then why are you so angry with me?"

He raised his head. "I'm not angry because you left—I'm angry because you left _me_. You left what we had, and I missed it. I missed everything. I missed the bad just as I missed the good. I loved you, and you _left _me."

She released one of his hands and brought her palm to his cheek. Her touch made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, but he was not repulsed. As angry as he was, he relished the feeling. He almost pressed his cheek into her skin, but stopped himself before emotion overtook his logic.

"To look at you now, J'Thaar… even if I had a sense of how you would feel, I wouldn't change a thing. You are healthy. You are _strong_. You're everything I hoped you would be—and if we hadn't met today, know that I _would _have found you."

She ran the tip of her thumb through the fur on his cheek; this time, he couldn't help himself. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

"I've thought of seeing you again every day since I left," she said as she stepped in closer. Her hand moved to the back of his head and tilted it forward; she pressed her forehead to his. She let go of his other hand and reached around to the small of his back.

"I always knew you'd turn out handsome, too," she smiled.

He chuckled at her words. What he didn't expect was for her to gently pull his head in close and kiss him softly. She let her lips linger for several moments before she broke away.

"I know you're upset with me," she said, "but why don't you let me start making it up to you?"

The kiss caught him off guard; the hand wandering around to the front of his trousers completely shocked him as it ran downward slowly from his sash.

He began to speak. "What are you—"

She shushed him quietly. "Don't tell me you averted your eyes immediately whenever you saw me bathing. I saw you myself."

She took a step back, letting her hands fall away from him. She reached into her hair and gave it a little tug; with a shake of her head, her braids uncoiled and fell to her shoulders. J'Thaar simply watched in astonishment as she unfastened her cloak and gently lowered it to the floor… as she stood back up and reached behind her for a fleeting moment before her dress slipped off her shoulders and slid down her hips and legs before pooling at her ankles.

She wore no undergarments; then again, she never had. They restricted her movement, she'd told him once. The corner of her mouth twisted into an almost cocky half-smile.

"Do I look as good tonight as I did then?" she teased as she slipped out of her shoes.

J'Thaar drank in every curve, every inch of skin as she silently padded her way back to him. She was surely in her early forties by now, but she was still as beautiful as he remembered her ever being.

"Every bit as good," he said, resting his hands on her hips as she pressed her body against him.

She grinned as she rocked her hips forward. "I'd say you were just sweet-talking me," she said as she rubbed her flesh against the growing bulge in his trousers, "but _this _tells me otherwise. Have a seat on the bed."

He did as she said, making his way back to the edge of the bed and lowering himself to the mattress slowly; the wooden frame creaked quietly beneath him. Amira knelt before him and pulled off each of his shoes. Her fingertips trailed up his legs and started working at his sash. Once she had it undone, she pushed open the lapels of his jacket; he shrugged out of it, letting it fall down his arms and onto the bedspread.

He lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side as she tugged gently at the waistband of his trousers. He planted his hands on the mattress and raised his hips to aid her; his member sprang free hard as the fabric passed over his thighs. Amira looked up at him as she pulled his trousers further down his legs and finally off completely.

"Lie down," she whispered.

Once again, J'Thaar complied. The Redguard stood up slowly and climbed softly onto the bed; the frame creaked louder under the added weight, but there was no sign of movement from Maëlys on the other side of the room.

Amira straddled him just above his knees and took him in her hand. She ran her thumb across his head; he could feel her skin dragging along his barbs.

"I'd almost forgotten about Khajiit men," she whispered.

Whatever pain she knew she would feel didn't stop her in the slightest. She shuffled forward on her knees and shifted her hips backward, guiding him into place with her hand. She closed her eyes and sank down; he felt himself enter her, but she did not show any pain.

_She always was a tough one, _he said to himself with an inward smile. He couldn't take his eyes off her; he found himself shivering slightly as her flesh met his thighs.

She placed her hands beside his chest and leaned into him little by little. She touched her forehead to his; he brushed his nose against hers. He felt her tighten upon him as she rocked her hips forward. He felt her wet heat pulling at him again and again as she moved back and forth…

She slipped a hand between her legs and began to stroke herself as she rocked. Her desire intensified with every movement; he could feel it on his fur. He lifted his hand and reached around to the back of her neck, pulling her face closer to his. He pressed his lips to her open mouth and sucked gently at her tongue. A soft moan hitched in her throat as she leaned harder into his kiss.

It wasn't long before he felt her muscles tense; he felt her fingers move faster and faster until she shuddered on top of him, and he kissed her again. She allowed herself a longer moan as she thrust her tongue back into his mouth.

Her movements were slow, but every one had purpose. She was squeezing him harder.

"I want it," she whispered, kissing his nose.

It was all it took to make his own body lock up. His breath caught in his chest briefly. He breathed a long, almost silent sigh as he released; his muscles relaxed as his flesh pulsed within her.

Her head fell delicately to his chest; he buried his nose in her braids, breathing her old, familiar scent in deeply as she reached out and slipped her fingers into his.

"Are you still angry with me, J'Thaar?" she asked.

He snickered. "I daresay I am. I suppose you'll just have to keep making it up to me."

"I daresay I will," she smiled. She gave his chest a quick kiss before settling her cheek back into his fur.

They lay with each other for only a short time before rising to dress themselves. Amira had only just fastened her cloak before J'Thaar places his hands on her hips and pulled her in close for another kiss. She hummed with quiet contentment and flashed him a broad grin as she pulled back.

"I'll be back tomorrow to check on you two," she said. She gave him a few pats on his rump. "Get some sleep… little kitten."

He turned the door handle and did his best to open it without making too much noise.

"You're going to get yourself in trouble talking like that, woman."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," she replied, shooting him a wink before treading silently into the hallway.

He closed the door as quietly as he could manage and paced back to his bed. He lay down on his side and shut his eyes with what must have been his hundredth smile of the night.

* * *

><p>The knock at the door startled Maëlys. She had been sitting on the edge of the bed in a slight daze, unable to get J'Thaar's stinging words about the incident the night before out of her head. She was annoyed he'd barely spoken to her the whole morning; she may as well not have even been in the room. She breathed a sigh of relief when he at least said he was headed out to the shops before he left, closing the door loudly behind him. She settled on to the bed and her eyes stared unfocused at nothing in particular. But the knock completely pulled her out of her thoughts, catching her off guard. More than a little concerned it might be Loïc, she sighed as she rose from where she sat.<p>

She approached the door and took a deep breath. "Who's there?"

"Amira."

_J'Thaar's Redguard? Wonderful. What does she want?_

Maëlys unlocked the door and opened it a crack – enough to rest her face between the frame and the door itself. "J'Thaar's not here."

"That's fine." The woman continued to stand in the corridor expectantly.

After a few moments, the Breton realized she wasn't going to leave without coming in. She rolled her eyes and stepped back, pulling the door open to allow the woman entry. Amira walked in the room and made herself comfortable, sitting in a chair near the window and sliding a satchel on to the ground next to her. Maëlys considered that this was going to be an uncomfortable period of time for her; she never did get along well with strangers.

_May as well pull the scab off in one fell swoop and get this over with_, she thought to herself.

"Look, I know I didn't get to thank you for what you did for me last night," she blurted out. "So thank you. Otherwise, I'm not really sure why you're here."

The woman leaned back in her chair, eyeing Maëlys as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"There's no need to be so nervous about my presence, Maëlys," she said.

"I'm _not_ nervous," she scoffed. "I just…what do you want?"

"I'm here to check up on you," Amira offered.

"Well, that's just…lovely of you," the Breton said mockingly. "As you can see, I'm quite fine."

"Is there something wrong?"

"Wrong?" she repeated. "Nothing at all wrong. If we both ignore the fact that you seem to know quite a bit more about me than I do you. I don't appreciate such a disadvantage."

"There's nothing stopping you from asking me any questions that you might have, Maëlys."

She stood there looking at the Redguard woman. The way she kept saying her name…the way her piercing eyes continued to observe her…the way she was all too comfortable with just…_being_ there; all of it unnerved her completely. Few people had this effect on the Breton, and she did not like the way this woman made her feel.

She shook off her concerns momentarily and walked across the room towards a small mirror that hung on the wall. "So what? You were J'Thaar's teacher or something?" she mumbled as she looked into the mirror, pulling on the scarf around her neck. If J'Thaar were in the room, he'd sense her apprehension from the nerves from that motion alone. Her eyes darted towards the woman's reflection in the mirror if only for a moment.

"In a sense, yes," Amira replied, leaning forward in the chair. "He was much younger then – just a cub coming into his own. I taught him to fight. To _survive_."

Maëlys froze for a moment before the expression on her face softened. She considered the fact that all of the lessons taught to her by J'Thaar had been passed on to him by the woman sitting across the room from her. The lessons that had, on countless occasions, saved her life – and his. Perhaps she would give her a chance after all.

She turned away from the mirror and walked towards the bed closest to the chair where Amira sat. She lowered herself on to the mattress and drew one leg up on to the bed, holding it close to her chest. She rested her head on her knee and looked at the Redguard once more.

"You taught him a lot," she said quietly.

"I'd like to think so," Amira said.

"And I learned a lot from him," she replied. "So…I suppose I have you to thank for that as well."

The woman merely smiled at her. When Maëlys looked down at her hands where they wrapped around her ankle, Amira continued to speak.

"He cares very deeply for you."

Immediately the Breton's eyes narrowed in her direction as she lifted her head. "How do you know that?" she snapped. "Did he _tell_ you that?"

She shook her head slowly. "He didn't have to," she said. "It was in the way he spoke. The way he watched you. I recognize it easily, for it is how I care for him."

Maëlys let her rising anger settle back down; she would chide the Khajiit for allowing his emotions to show so obviously later. For now, she was interested in this woman and what she had to say. She smiled sweetly in her direction.

"J'Thaar doesn't talk about his past much," she said.

Amira leaned heavily on the arm of the chair with a smile. "What would you like to know?"

_"Everything."_

* * *

><p>The shirt spread across the table was immaculate. He ran his fingers over the shimmering strands of red, purple and gold embroidery around the cuffs… the shoulders… the collar… intricate patterns woven together flawlessly that stood out against the black silk like the dawn's first rays of sunlight.<p>

"My good Altmer," he said, shaking his head in astonishment, "you truly are an artist."

A slow smile spread across the old elf's wrinkled face. "I like to think so, young master. Ah, and now the trousers…"

It was only after several minutes of fawning over his new attire that he went behind the curtain to test the fit. The first thing he noticed was the way the trousers allowed his tail a full, comfortable range of motion at its base; normally he had to have his garments altered two or three times before the tailor had found an acceptable balance, but apparently the old elf really knew what he was doing. The trousers had even been fitted with a drawstring, which in J'Thaar's experience was a rarity. He would certainly commission the elf to make more for him.

The shirt was still his favorite piece by far, however. Upon donning it, the feel of the silk sliding along the fur on his arms sent a thrill down his spine from the base of his skull to the tip of his tail.

When he emerged from behind the curtain, the Altmer brought him in front of a full-length mirror of polished bronze. He turned from side to side, now fully able to admire the clothier's handiwork.

"The fit in the cuffs does not quite match that of the shoulders," the old elf said, "but I assure you that it is no mistake. Fitting enough so as not to appear gaudy, but loose enough to conceal a blade."

J'Thaar turned toward the Altmer and raised an eyebrow. "A blade, you say? Wherever did you get the impression that—"

The elf's brow furrowed. "Young master, I have been stitching fine garments since your great-grandfather was suckling at his mother's breast. My eyes might not seem sharp to you, but I assure you, I see _everything_—including the columns of short throwing knives lining the inside of a man's jacket when I am taking measurements."

He stood stunned. He had well and truly underestimated the Altmer.

"Ah, that reminds me," the elf continued. "If you'll follow me, young master, there is something else I have prepared for you. Bring your jacket, please."

He was led into a back room that might have been roomy if not for the numerous worktables, shelves lined with shoes and large rolls of paper crowding it. The old elf shut and locked the door behind them before reaching high onto the shelf at his side and bringing down a pair of shoes.

J'Thaar watched as the elf sat and began to ply at the soles. They seemed to come off without effort—and there was something underneath.

The Khajiit cocked his head, puzzled. "What manner of contraption is that?" he asked.

"If you would be so kind, hand me one of your throwing knives and I will show you."

He did as asked, drawing a blade and handing it over with its pommel-ring in front. The Altmer took it without taking his eyes off the shoe and settled it into place inside with its tip pointing toward the toe.

"Ah," he sighed, "good. The fit is just right."

J'Thaar raised an eyebrow. "What—"

The elf merely held up a finger, bidding the Khajiit wait a moment longer. All he could do was watch while the man fiddled with the knife and the shoe until something clicked into place. He saw the elf give a satisfied smile as he slid the sole back into position; it attached to the rest of the shoe seamlessly, leaving J'Thaar even more confused than he was before.

The Altmer handed him the shoe. "Put it on and I'll show you how it works."

He slipped off the shoe on his right foot, lifted his leg and replaced it with the one he'd just been given. He gingerly settled his foot back onto the floor, afraid that he might break… something. He had absolutely no idea what was going on.

"Curl your toes."

He did. The first two-thirds of the blade shot out the toe; he just looked at it and blinked.

"Good," said the elf. "Again."

Another curl of his toes, and J'Thaar's blade slipped back inside its new home.

The Khajiit shook his head. "But… how did—"

"I know a great many things, young master. In all my years, however, I have never revealed my secrets—not even to my apprentices."

J'Thaar nodded. "I imagine keeping secrets also keeps the customers coming back, yes?"

The elf smiled. "Quite. Now, hand me another blade; I'll have your shoes finished in a few minutes, and then I'll show you the other clothes I've made you."

J'Thaar's ears perked up. "You mean… you made more?"

"Yes. Four sets."

He laughed. "Are you a sorcerer, old man? Where in the world did you find the time to make all this? I only saw you just the other day!"

The Altmer chuckled. "Trade secret, young master."

* * *

><p>"Ow!"<p>

J'Thaar picked up his pace in the corridor as he heard the cry – it was certainly Maëlys. And her cry was unquestionably coming from their room, but he had no idea if someone was in the room with her – or who it might be. As he turned the handle and pushed the door wide open, his eyes darted around, trying to gather the elements of the scene.

Maëlys stood across from Amira. There was a large wound on her arm. And in Amira's hand, a dagger dripping with blood.

"Amira!" he cried out as his face contorted in shock. "What have you done?"

Both women looked at him, almost confused at his reaction. When they looked back at each other, they smiled and Maëlys began to laugh uncontrollably. It only seemed to further confuse the Khajiit.

"What is going on?"

With the Breton doubled over in a fit of laughter, Amira approached him slowly.

"Relax J'Thaar," she explained. "I suggested to Maëlys that I would teach her a bit of healing magic. So she suggested that we work with some actual wounds to practice."

Maëlys regained enough composure to step towards him as well. She held her arm up and raised her eyebrows excitedly. "Watch what I've learned!" she exclaimed. She raised her other hand up and he could see the air change around her palm. His vision blurred as the energy radiated outwards from her hand towards the cut; it had the appearance of the hazy waves that were produced above the ground on a hot day. Within seconds, he could see the slash begin to repair itself before his eyes. The edges of skin stretched oddly, almost reaching for the other side of the wound. It turned his stomach a little and he averted his eyes as she continued to heal herself.

He stood with his mouth agape for a moment before finally addressing them. "You two are fucking crazy."

His statement sent Maëlys into further hysterics and she flopped down on to the nearest bed once the wound had closed. She brought her arm up towards her face and she licked some drops of blood off of it as she watched him shake his head at her.

Amira smiled to herself as she leaned towards the ground to pick up her satchel. "I believe our lessons are done for the day, Maëlys," she said. She walked towards the door, stopping to place her hand on J'Thaar's shoulder as she passed. "I also believe you two have quite a bit to discuss. We'll see each other again later."

As she walked out of the room, J'Thaar watched her close the door behind her. When he turned back around, Maëlys was sitting down on the end of the bed. She had finally stopped laughing and was focused on healing the wound on her arm completely, so as to leave no scar.

For as angry as he had been over her recent lack of self-control, he couldn't help but feel blissful over the way the day was heading. His take from Radiant Raiment was certainly something to celebrate, but what really pleased him was the way Maëlys appeared to have taken to Amira. He was a little stunned that she was not only behaving around the Redguard, but seemingly had started down some strange road to friendship. He wondered if it weren't time to talk to her – after all, he had forgotten a very important detail. He still had no idea what had happened to her the night before.

He looked back down at her; she was still admiring her newfound healing abilities. His mouth turned up at the corners faintly as he took a couple steps towards her.

"Lys?"

"Hmm?" she replied without looking up.

"What happened last night?" He was surprised at how difficult it was to ask the question.

"J'Thaar, I—" she began, finally meeting his eyes. He motioned for her to move over. She sighed as she did so and he sat next to her, curling one leg under himself.

"I have only now just realized that I don't know what you even encountered," he said. "And I just assumed that you killed someone for no reason."

She looked towards the ceiling for a moment. "Well, that's not entirely too far from the truth."

He listened intently as she explained how the night played out from start to finish. From trying to avoid the Nord who bought her the drink…to encountering the bandits…through to the end where she drove her blade into Sander's chest and ended his life.

J'Thaar took a deep breath when she admitted to killing the Nord for calling her 'girl'. But when she continued to explain how all she could hear was her brother's voice…and all she could see was his face…her expression became sullen. He thought he almost detected a hint of regret in her voice.

Perhaps there was a little humanity under all that madness yet…

* * *

><p>Maëlys giggled to herself a little when she thought back to her conversation with J'Thaar earlier that day. She confronted him about his feelings for her…told him what Amira had said. He brushed it aside, blaming it on the sudden appearance of Amira and the Breton's brush with death. The look on his face was rather priceless. She thought she might have actually had him on the verge of admitting the rumors to be true.<p>

The way he nearly choked when she angrily confronted him about his encounter with the woman the night before was also memorable. He _had_ relaxed a bit when she roughly grabbed his collar and growled into his ear that he should have woken her up to join in.

He had apparently taken her statement as a challenge; for now, she and Amira sat across from one another, hovering over J'Thaar's naked body.

The Breton's lips sucked at his length; the Redguard's tongue swirled around his tip. Their hands roaming over his thighs and hips made the fur on his arms bristle with delight.

Maëlys dragged her tongue up slowly to meet Amira's at the top; they closed their mouths around him, moaning into each other as their tongues danced together over his barbed flesh. He took hold of their hands; each slipped her fingers into his and squeezed him sweetly. Each was licking at the other's lips just as much as his flesh…

The contact with Amira's mouth caused the Breton's eyes to fly wide open. The woman in front of her was deeply involved in her actions; her eyes were closed lightly. Maëlys seized the opportunity to grip the woman by her braids; she pulled gently at first, then harder on them and the woman's mouth opened just enough for her to push on to the tip of his length.

She held Amira firmly in position, watching for some moments as the woman got over the initial shock of the action and settled into a slow rhythm. As if issuing some form of silent approval, she loosened her grip on her hair, maintaining only slight pressure on the back of Amira's head. Maëlys' eyes drifted up J'Thaar's body to his face. The expression upon it spoke volumes – he was more than enjoying this experience. When his eyes met with hers, she licked her teeth as her mouth fell open. His fingers fell slack from hers and her eyes slowly closed as she felt them at the back of her head, intertwining with her hair.

His eyes darted back to Amira; she held him in her gaze as she lowered her mouth further and further with every slow, deliberate bob of her head. He could hear her breathing getting heavier and heavier in her nostrils as her excitement grew—until she took one final breath and plunged downward, burying her nose in his fur. He groaned at the feeling of her throat rippling around him, and he squeezed her hand harder.

She shut her eyes and held for as long as she dared before pulling back; spittle flowed from the corners of her lips as she drew them back tightly along his length until finally she released him with a loud pop that seemed to echo around the room. Her eyes flickered upward to Maëlys; neither could stop herself from giggling.

Without missing a beat, the Breton descended upon J'Thaar. He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger and gently moved it behind her ear. Amira brought her free hand to the back of Maëlys' head and stroked at it gently… then splayed her fingers across the Breton's crown and pushed down.

"Just returning the favor," she grinned wickedly.

J'Thaar looked first at her mouth wrapped around him and then at her eyes as they glazed over. His lips curled back into a grin; if he saw her like this a thousand more times, he would still never get enough of the image. As Maëlys continued to slowly move her lips around him, he glanced past her to see Amira looking up at him still. She gave him a look – something that suggested she approved of the young woman in front of her. He continued to watch as the woman leaned forward, positioning her mouth near the Breton's ear. She whispered something so quietly that even straining, J'Thaar couldn't hear.

But Maëlys did. Her eyes opened and as she slowly dragged her mouth off of the Khajiit, he could see the wicked smile forming upon her lips. She rose from her knees and pushed herself backwards to stand on the floor. She made her way slowly towards a large armchair near the window and sank into it, draping one leg over. Her hand slowly trailed its way up and down her own thigh as she watched Amira begin to remove her clothing. J'Thaar settled back further on the bed, stroking himself lightly as his eyes darted between the two women. He wasn't certain what he enjoyed more; the fact that Amira was preparing to climb on top of him, or that his little Breton's fingers were already connecting with the heat between her legs.

The Redguard dropped her dress off the side of the bed, letting her fingers dangle delicately in the air as she shifted closer to J'Thaar. She braced her hands on his hips and quickly swung her leg over his thighs. She traced her nails through the fur of his wrist, up his hand and over his knuckles; he let his grasp on himself give way to Amira's touch. He sighed gently as she pumped lightly at his wet flesh.

J'Thaar lowered his arms to his sides and raised himself up onto his elbows as she brought him into the heat of her folds. As he watched the way she pulled him back and forth between her thighs, he could hear just how wet she was. His heart pounded as her other hand reached for his face; he leaned his cheek into her touch, nuzzling her palm and kissing her wrist.

She lowered herself onto him. She gasped; he moaned. She settled herself onto his thighs and breathed a quiet sigh, closing her eyes as she began to rock her hips backward.

She'd already had it like this, though, and J'Thaar wanted his turn. He bolted upright and grabbed her hips, rolling her over onto her back in one fluid motion. He pulled himself back and thrust into her deeply, grinding into her as she moaned and reached for his braids…

He heard a slight whimper from across the room and his eyes fell upon Maëlys once more. She was watching every move the pair made and it sent a shiver through J'Thaar to see how she reacted to the scene. He could see how she had loosened her trousers…how her hand had found its way under her waistband…how her hand moved. But he wanted to see more – his eyes caught hers and he allowed his to travel slowly down to where her hand moved. When he returned his eyes to hers, he spoke to her with them, and she could see what he wanted. She pulled her hand back from her trousers, gripping the waist of them and slowly – almost torturously so – began to slip them off her legs. He glanced back at Amira below him who continued to mirror his slow movements in a matched rhythm. When she looked up at him, he looked back over at Maëlys, and she did the same. A smile covered Amira's face when she saw the Breton's fingers begin to ply at her increasingly moist folds, dipping them seductively inside of herself whenever she saw the Khajiit's eyes lower.

Amira placed a finger on the side of his chin and turned his face back toward her. The same finger then ran through the fur of his cheek; she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in closer.

"Don't forget about me, little kitten," she whispered, brushing the tip of her nose against his lip.

He dived into her neck with a growl and nipped at the side of her throat, thrusting his hips into her harder. She gasped at first; then she moaned; then she cried out again and again, wrapping her arms around him tightly and burying her mouth in his fur to muffle her sobs of passion as he drove himself into her as deep as he could go.

"I could never forget about you," he murmured in her ear.

He felt her wet heat gripping him harder as he sent her hurtling over the edge. She clung to him for dear life, and he quickened his strokes until her muscles relaxed and he felt her fingers toying with the fur on his shoulders. He raised his head and looked down upon her, softly groaning through a smile of contentment as he pressed his hips into her thighs. He leaned in and kissed her; she pushed her tongue into his mouth just like she had the night before and, like it did then, it set his stomach aflutter.

As Maëlys observed the two, she froze. The woman told her that day…told her how she felt about the Khajiit. She even compared it to the way J'Thaar felt about her. It caused her to falter – what was this she felt? Jealousy? If so, only over the rich history the two seemed to share. Perhaps it was a sense of…intrusion. This moment shared by the two…and perhaps the moments from the night prior – she considered she should not have been there. They had their fun – they probably would again. Or maybe they wouldn't. Her mind raced as she reached for her trousers as silently as she could. She slipped her leg over the arm of the chair to the floor and began to quietly pad across the room.

She didn't get far.

"Maëlys? Where are you going?"

She turned to see J'Thaar – rather naked – with his hands on his hips and his head cocked to the side.

She clenched her fists tightly around the trousers she held in them and attempted to mumble an excuse. "I just…I thought maybe that you…and Amira should…have some time to yourself."

He smirked. "Get over here."

She stepped towards him hesitantly. When she stood in front of him, he reached down and pulled the trousers from her grip, tossing them to the side. He brought his hand up to gently brush the hair back from her face. As their eyes met, she saw in them something that required no words. He wouldn't ever push her aside. Wouldn't ever abandon her. Wouldn't ever not be there. She melted into his touch and his look and felt his forehead press against her own. As she nuzzled into his chest, she felt his hand grab her arse and she squeaked, causing him to chuckle.

"Dibella herself would be jealous of this arse," he grinned.

She reached back and grasped the hand kneading at her flesh, pressing his palm harder into her skin. She felt him begin to swell against her thigh; he felt her shiver against his chest. He brought his other hand to her arse and lifted her off the floor, making her squeal as she threw her arms around the back of his neck. She grabbed at his braids and mashed her mouth into his so hard he thought her lips might bleed.

She pulled back with a deep breath. "I thought Amira had you spent."

He shook his head, still grinning wildly. "You should know by now that I finish when I want..." He directed his lips to within a whisper of her ear; "..._girl_—and I haven't yet had you today," he finished as he pulled back to look at her. The word lit a fire in her eyes and she drew her lips back into a smile as she snarled at him, biting at his lower lip gently.

"Tempting fate, are we Khajiit?" she smirked.

He didn't answer; merely continued to stare into her eyes as he carried her towards the armchair she had been sitting in moments before. She squirmed in his arms as he shifted his hands to grip her arse more firmly; she pulled herself tightly to his chest and kissed the side of his face. When her nose began to nudge along the bottom of his ear, she felt his length press against her insistently. A quiet moan ascended to his throat and he lowered her to the ground gently.

He stepped back and observed her for a moment, planning his next moves. As he eyed her up and down, she giggled a little; the sound made his cock jump and he no longer wished to delay touching her. He took a quick step forward and his hands landed at her waist as he pulled the tunic she wore up and over her head in a single motion, tossing it carelessly. He spun her around, grabbed her hips roughly and dropped to his knees.

Maëlys felt the soft fur of J'Thaar's face tickling her buttocks. She tensed up momentarily as it teased her skin, but nearly collapsed to her knees when she felt the heat of his mouth and the wet of his tongue divide her in half. The feeling of it between her cheeks as it dragged along was intense; she felt him press further and deeper as he reached his intended target and she gasped loudly, grabbing at his hands for support.

His tongue continued up her body, hitting the small of her back and following the length of her spine. She shivered as his hands followed suit and guided her backwards to the chair where he lowered himself to sit. She looked over her shoulder at him and he patted his lap gently. She complied with his request, only holding herself above his length…teasing him…for mere moments before he took hold of her waist and forced her down on to him.

Every muscle in her body tensed. She clamped her lips shut to muffle her scream at the intense sting of his forceful entrance. She grabbed onto his wrists, digging her fingers through his fur and into his skin; he pushed and pulled her at his leisure, guiding her back and forth. Eventually she opened her mouth, gasping for air and moaning loudly, pulling her fingers away from the Khajiit's arms and sliding them up her body to toy with her breasts.

He nipped at her shoulder. "Lustful little bitch, aren't you _girl_?" he breathed.

She growled at his words, tossing her head back to expose more of her neck to his lips and teeth.

"Say it again," she snarled.

He slipped a hand between her thighs and immediately began to stroke her with vigor. His sudden touch made her seize up again, ushering a cry from the pit of her stomach. His laugh was more cackle than chuckle. He bit at the soft flesh of the side of her neck as he bucked his hips into her arse.

"You're _my_ lustful little Breton bitch, aren't you? Aren't you, _girl_?"

He felt her legs shaking. He brought his freehand up over her side and grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging it with another growl.

"Answer me."

"I am," she squealed. "I'm yours."

He tugged at her hair again. Her body went into spasms in his lap; he kept rubbing her with his fingers until she grabbed his wrist again. He eased his hand away from her folds, and she settled back into him. His hand in her hair descended to her shoulder; she nuzzled his cheek with hers.

"I'm your girl, J'Thaar," she whispered.

"Good," he purred into her ear as his hand moved from her shoulder to encircle her throat. As she leaned into his chest, he felt her shift on his lap. For a moment, he made ready to yank her back down towards him, as if she made to stand up. But he felt her push down on him as she swiveled her hips around in small circles, grinding against him. His claws dragged across her neck lightly and she whimpered at his touch.

When the Redguard woman reappeared unexpectedly in front of them, Maëlys squeaked in surprise. J'Thaar chuckled at her response and began to slowly move his hips up and down to offer opposition to her efforts. Amira sauntered slowly to the side of the chair and leaned towards them, sliding her hand atop the Breton's arm. She gripped it lightly and raised Maelys' hand up behind her head, sending her fingers into the fur on J'Thaar's face. Maëlys scratched at his cheek as her head fell back. When she felt Amira's breath on her neck, her breathing quickened. The women's lips found their way to the back of the Khajiit's hand where it rested at her throat; then Maëlys felt those same soft lips brush up her neck and land delicately on her cheek. She closed her eyes as Amira's lips lingered, breathing warmth upon her face.

Amira's fingertips trailed away from J'Thaar's cheek and onto Maëlys' as she came around in front. She gave the Breton a slow smile, lightly running her thumb over the girl's chin before beginning her descent to her knees, gently caressing her face with the back of her fingers. Her hand wandered down the front of the Breton's body as she moved her lips closer; she began kissing the girl's knee, then the inside of her thigh, then the very outside of the folds parted by J'Thaar's throbbing flesh…

Maëlys squealed when the Redguard woman pressed her open mouth to her flesh. Their eyes met and stayed locked as the woman's tongue plied at her from between her full, dark lips. The girl's hands shot forward into Amira's hair, gripping her braids as the tip of the woman's tongue found its mark.

J'Thaar could feel Amira's bottom lip upon him, but it wasn't until her hand found his balls that his heart began to pound. He could feel her cupping him, stroking the sensitive skin under his fur, clasping him ever-so-gently in her palm… he groaned loudly as every sensation working in tandem overwhelmed his composure. The Breton's quivering flesh and the constant tightening of her grip on him caused the heat to rise in his face.

Amira could feel the girl's grip on her hair becoming more frantic. She could see the muscles of her stomach contracting harder; could hear her whimpering becoming more and more desperate. She stroked the insides of the Breton's thigh, carefully noting the spots that made her jump. She kept working those spots with her fingers until the girl was almost howling, bucking wildly atop her lover's legs. Another groan let her know the Khajiit wasn't far behind. She felt him tighten in her hand; moments later, she could taste him. She released her hold on him and brought her hands up to meet his on Maëlys' thighs. A little kiss on the girl's skin made her twitch and whimper again.

The Redguard woman uncoiled slowly to her feet. Maëlys followed suit, slowly pulling herself off J'Thaar's softening length. Amira snaked her hands around to the girl's back, holding her in a gentle embrace. Maëlys placed her hands on the woman's chest; each stood gazing into each other's eyes until Amira leaned in and kissed the sweat from a patch of the Breton's brow.

Amira turned toward the bed on the far side of the room. She took Maëlys' hand and led her to the mattress; J'Thaar stood on shaky legs and followed them.

The trio settled comfortably into the sheets with J'Thaar in the middle. With a woman on either side, each held close to his body with her cheek in his fur, he felt like he was in paradise.

Maëlys propped herself up on her elbow; her hand crept up to the Khajiit's ear.

"You know," she said, "you never did get around to finishing what you were saying to me this morning."

His head lolled toward her on the pillow. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she continued, arching her eyebrows with a smirk as she played with his ear, "Amira gave me some very interesting bits of insight earlier…"

"I'm not sure I—"

A hard twist of his ear made him yelp in pain before he could finish his thought.

"Say it," Maëlys grinned.

"Say what, you vicious—"

She twisted his ear harder. "_Say it_."

He hissed. "Gods' sakes, _fine_! I _love_ you, you violent little harlot! Now let me go!"

She released his ear with a hum of satisfaction, lowering herself back to the mattress and setting back into his chest like nothing had happened.

Amira giggled. Her own hand darted to J'Thaar's other ear; his back arched off the bed as she pinched it between her fingertips, causing him to grit his teeth.

"And?" she said sweetly.

His eyes were screwed shut. "What is this madness?" he snarled.

She began to pull. "_And?_"

He hissed again. "I love you too, you wretch! Unhand me!"

She relaxed her hold and brought her hand back down, flicking his nose lightly as her fingertips brushed through his fur. He could hear the two women giggling in unison as they wove their fingers together over his belly.

He felt an unfamiliar warmth above his skin. He raised his head off the pillow; looking down, he could see the women's fingers glowing as they played magic off each other's palms.

He let his head drop. _Paradise comes at a cost, apparently_, he sighed to himself inwardly.


End file.
